A Riddle You Should Never Forget
by HedgeWrites
Summary: The Orphanage couldn't find a space in their hearts between fear and pity for the boy. Merlin couldn't stand by and watch him fall. It's the 1930s, and Tom Riddle's rise to power is set in motion with very different beginnings. Ghosts of Merlin's guilt spur him into the path of a boy whom so many had written off for darkness, but perhaps he can still be pulled from the depths.
1. Chapter 1: The Orphanage

Wools Orphanage

 _~28th March, 1938..._

The Orphanage was almost vibrating with the hum of uncontrollable whispers. Martha didn't actually have a problem with talking to an acceptable level, but the children were holding in so much excitement that they'd found themselves speaking only in whispers all day.

Martha didn't mind, so long as no one exploded, as poor little Angie had looked on the brink of doing. It wasn't much use telling them all to calm down. Even at breakfast appetites had gone haywire, with some children not eating at all, and others downing twice what they usually ate. As the day had dragged on, it had only gotten worse, by three o'clock Martha had been shooing them from that hallway at regular intervals, greying hair working it's way from her neat and practical bun, so that when the moment arrived and the doorbell at last rung, she looked nothing short of frazzled.

The visitor was the middle-aged son of the man who had founded Wools Orphanage. He was the unlikely type to harbour a secret fortune, but Martha was beyond thankful for his constant funding- wherever it came from. She'd met him a few times in her career, but since the orphanage's opening he'd visited enough times to count on Martha's fingers. It had been a long gap since his last visit. A long, twelve year gap.

She often wondered what on earth had kept him away. They'd received no word until a month ago, when a letter arrived by an astoundingly intelligent owl, telling Martha he was coming to visit. Everything about the mans demeanour screamed at Martha that he was more than he seemed, but for all she had pondered about it, she had never quite been able to place the man.

She sighed, looking around herself at the hallway with an interior that had a defining look of 'faded'. Other than the wallpaper in the common room, very little had changed in those twelve years. Several of the kids had moved on and left, and those that remembered the man would not be children much longer. They had done a good job spreading the rumours of him to the younger children though. Fantastical tales of a man with twinkly eyes and an endless bag of sweets. She'd even heard whispers of his little parlour tricks, that Martha rather fondly and curiously remembered.

A thought hit her like a rock. Of course, the final change had been the arrival of the boy named Tom Riddle. Troubled and unnervingly different, Tom had spread an unease about the place that had grown into fear as his quiet dominance over the children at Wools had grown. Even the kitchen staff were petrified of him. He barely left his room nowadays though. His eleventh birthday has passed unnoticed last December and in February an incident meant that all his meals were brought separately to his room. Martha couldn't find a space in her heart between discomfort and pity for the silent devil of a child. Perhaps, she often thought to herself, it was better now he had isolated himself in such a way. She was unhealthily ashamed of pushing the problem aside, but she couldn't jeopardise the happiness of the rest of the children for one, doomed boy named Tom.

The doorbell chimed with a harsh tinkle, sending the children flooding from the common room into the hall where they gathered, beadily at the bottom of the stairs in the hall. Martha sighed,

"I don't want you trampling him." She said, resigning herself to open the door.

Merlin hoped the small wrinkles he had added to his face would be enough. Ageing himself was a tedious and tiring affair, and other than the suspicions of Martha, the children at Wools had never really paid it any attention. It felt surreal to be back again. He knew that for the children, twelve years would have brought a great many changes. Even for Martha, who he had appointed twenty two years ago now, would feel as though an era had passed. He was guilty that he hadn't visited in so long. He used to make a stop by every two years at the least.. but research and curiosity had lead him abroad. He'd realised all too late that the twelve year blink in his own history, was a far bigger gap for the mortal man. He shoved down his guilt, he hoped what he'd brought would be enough.

The picture of a 1930s Gentleman, he currently donned his grey, long duffel coat with some simple black trousers and a white shirt, concealed by a navy scarf that he had around his neck to keep out the lingering cold that came with the early spring days of drizzle along with a discreet peaked cap. Oh, how he had missed the wonders of British weather. He didn't mind though, finally he wouldn't struggle to find a cup of English breakfast to start each morning.

The old sorcerer wrung the bell of the looming building and stood back, rocking on his heels and holding his carrier bag behind him.

Nervously, the door opened. An eye peeked out, and retreated quickly back inside after several squeals sounded. Merlin thought he heard the wrinkled eye giving a firm order to keep quiet and civil, confirming his suspicions that it was Martha. Finally, the door opened again, fully this time to reveal the stern faced head of the orphanage, corset as tight as her lip and dress characteristically black. A few more lines in her face, a few more wispy grey hairs... but it was certainly her.

Behind her stood the Orphans, clearly attempting to look presentable and orderly, but at their barely contained excitement, his heart warmed to all of them, and he cursed himself for not visiting sooner.

From behind him, he revealed his carrier bag and a bunch of flowers.

"It's good to see you, Martha." Merlin smiled warmly, embracing the woman with his free arm and kissing her hand. She tried to keep a stern face whilst she thanked him for the flowers but Merlin knew the twinkle in her eye betrayed she was happy to see him. He knew Martha, and she was more curious than any of the children. She was also incredibly intelligent and Merlin couldn't help but prompt her speculations about him. Perhaps she would become one of the few people to ever guess.

"And you, Mr Thomas." She replied, taking and admiring the humble flowers he had conjured on his journey here.

"I trust you can entertain everyone for a moment while I go and-"

But Merlin had stopped listening. He'd glued his eyes to the stop of the staircase, where a gaunt, pale faced boy with perfectly combed hair and a sharp jawline stood gripping the banister, his knuckles white and eyes narrowed at Merlin. Merlin let out a breath, drawing in the foreign Magic that had just filtered into the room. A wizard. And a good one, at that. His magic stifled Merlins senses for a moment, tense with suspicion. Immediately, Merlin knew he must speak with the boy.

"Mr Thomas?" Martha said in a low voice.

"What's his name?" Merlin said quietly, not breaking eye contact with the boy atop the stairs whose presence had silenced everything.

"Tom is... how can I put this... unlike the other children." Martha replied, verging on a whisper.

Merlin nodded slowly, understanding. He withdrew his gaze from the boy, staring at the banister with a calculating look before realising where he was and blinking back into the moment. With the sprightliness of a young man he snapped back into action, handing Martha the carrier bag.

"It's so lovely to finally meet you all- and see some familiar faces," he said jovially, "I'm Mr Thomas, I think Martha is going to share out a little something I've brought for you." He called to the children with a trademark lopsided grin. His messy hair framed his angled face in a goofy way that caused a ripple of chuckles. His eyes twinkled, true to his nature and Martha told the children to gather back in the common room.

Tom turned from his place at the top of the stairs and began to walk back up them, an almost bored expression on his face.

"Five minutes." Merlin said, turning to Martha, who shook her head in a despairing motion.

"Mr Thomas, I don't think Tom really wants to spend time with the others, I-"

"It's not about making him come down and join us." Merlin cut her off, tone serious as the twinkle in his eyes flickered out.

Martha gulped a little, and Merlin drew back, ears flushing red.

"I have never known you to be unnerved, Martha," he said, voicing his concerns, "I'd like to talk to him all the same, and I promise you it will only be five minutes."

Martha sighed, and resigned herself to the chaos of the common room, casting him one last glance that seemed to say "good luck", before leaving Merlin alone in the corridor.

Merlin turned towards the large oak staircase. He tried to let some sort of calm wash over him as he began to saunter up the stairs. He let his magic seep into the creaky wooden floorboards, his feet stepping silently. He tracked the pull of the boys magic along the panelled landing, stopping with a short breath outside a door at the end of the hall.

The door opened before Merlin could knock, revealing the slight and pasty boy, a cool glare on his features. Merlin had no idea why, but he found himself gulping.

"Hello," He said warmly, taking the embarrassing hint of fear and shoving it firmly aside. He was the greatest sorcerer ever to live and this was an angsty boy. And yet he gave off a dangerousness that set the hairs on the back of Merlins neck firmly on end. He sighed inwardly at the irony, of all people, he should be the one to scare others, and yet even a boy could do it better than him.

Tom blinked up at Merlin, upper lip stiff.

"So you're the fabled Mr Thomas." It wasn't a question.

"I am, I am, and yet," Merlin answered levelly, realising that the 'warmth and friendliness' attitude wasn't going to soften Tom at any rate, "I don't see you jumping up and down about my "fabled chocolate."

"No," Tom answered with a polite but painfully forced smile, "good day, Mr Thomas." And he shut the door in Merlins face. The warlock caught the smile dropping into a cold glare before the lock snapped shut.

Merlin sighed.

"Tom..." he said, pressing a hand to the door, his tone a little more stern, "If I wanted to be downstairs with the other children instead of talking to you I would be." He tried to reason but there was no reply.

"Please, it won't be long, I just want to ask you something." Merlin balled his palm against the door into a fist when there was still no movement to open the door. He placed his forehead to the wood in despair. Perhaps he had to approach this from a different direction.

He was so unimaginably curious about this boy and the effect he seemed to have on Merlin, that the Warlock couldn't just leave it there and walk away. He hadn't seen anything like this boy in all his endless years and in truth he was worried about what such a potential could do to one so young. He thought back to his childhood in Ealdor, wondering what could have become of him if he had not had his mother to tell him to keep his faith when wave after wave of bullies targeted him as an outcast. Hunnith had been the one to teach him right from wrong, to tell him time and time again that revenge was not a way to use his gifts.

This boy had Martha, but Martha was not enough. Martha was not a mother or a father and he could feel Tom was already sinking. Merlin hoped to pull the boy out, if he could, but he needed more information first. How much did Tom know about the gifts Merlin sensed within him? And what had caused him to behave the way he did?

Merlin tried one last time to get Tom to open the door. He took in a sharp breath when again he failed. He stood back from the door, resigning himself to his unfortunate conclusion. He had to give the boy a reason to want to talk to him- this door would do reluctantly nicely.

He raised a slightly shaking hand towards the door, grimacing and hoping no one would venture upstairs before he repaired the damage he was about to do. He breathed deeply, banishing all trace of the tremor in his hand. He focused, he channeled his magic, he felt it simmer beneath his outstretched fingertips and in one fluid motion he clenched his fist and yanked it back, with his magic pulling the door firmly out of the frame. It hung limp in the air for a moment while Merlin strode into Toms bedroom and then fitted itself, rather contemptuously back into place with a satisfied click after a smooth flick of Merlins hand. The warmth faded from behind Merlins irises and he took in his new surroundings.

Contrasting to the wooden panelled, dusty carpeted and warm landing hallway, Toms room was a blank slate. Remnants of a blue printed teddy-bear wallpaper lay plastered to the back wall- the last shreds of it, too stubborn to give in to the plainness of the rest of the room. To Merlins left a bunk bed stood against one of the walls of the box-room and at its foot sat a small chest of drawers. The single mattress on the bottom bunk looked like it had not been slept in for several days and there were no clothes strewn about on the aged wooden floor as you would expect in an ordinary boys bedroom.

A single candlestick was all that lay on the bedside table, though a drawer was set into the simple wooden box. There was a locked wardrobe against the wall which the door was set into that looked as if it purposely didn't want to be opened. The back window was shut, the curtains drawn and the only place in the bedroom that looked as if it was used was the desk on the adjacent wall to Merlins right.

Tom stood in front of it, as if he had made a last desperate attempt to hide its contents from Merlin before he realised what had just happened.

Papers where strewn across it with a furious slanting scrawl across them, large books could be seen beneath all the scattered ink pots and broken quills. Bullet points and diagrams rewritten over and over, notes tacked to various sheets indicating someone desperately trying to piece something together. Merlin spotted a corner of a photo frame sticking out from under the madness.

Finally, the Warlock turned to regard Tom. His expression was of shock, of course, but there was a hint of something else there, and as the pair stared each other down that something else grew across Toms features, and it was Merlins turn to look perplexed.

It was lust. A greed for power shone in the boys eyes as he trained them beadily on Merlin, a hint of scrutiny and thoughtfulness could be seen in the way he squinted just a little and his eyebrows knitted together.

Merlin felt repulsed by the look. It suddenly and awfully hit him that Tom had sunk further than he thought. No boy would turn to desire over awe so quickly. Tom wanted power so badly that even shock could not interfere. What did he want it for? Merlin dared not think yet... he was so, so painfully young...

One thing was for sure, if Tom hadn't wanted to talk to him before, he certainly did now.

"You could teach me?" Tom said quietly, indicating the door.

"That's something we would need to talk about." Merlin answered, his plan to keep Tom engaged. He stepped further into the room, kneading his forehead a couple of times. So Tom knew about his powers, that was clearly evident, he would never ask to be taught something unless he knew that he was at least somewhat different. Merlin thought he'd make sure.

"Have you ever noticed you can do things that the other children here can't?" He asked, phrasing the question carefully.

The gleam in Toms eyes said it all, but he answered anyway.

"Oh yes. I know what I am."

So he knew he was a wizard? Now that was interesting. Merlin began to pace about the strange room, thinking. Tom opened his mouth eagerly to speak again, eyes still darting to the door every so often as if he had to keep pinching himself. It was unnerving how happy the boy had become, and a smile did not look like it often presented itself on his face. Unfortunately, Merlin found himself cutting off Toms open mouth with a question of his own.

"Excuse me for asking, Tom, but what do you know of your parents?" He was treading on thin ice asking a question like that in an orphanage but Tom answered all the same.

"My mother had magic," he said, "and my father..." Tom scowled at the floor, clearly only answering to get Merlin to move on to his own questions.

"He didn't have it? That seems to upset you-"

"He was scum!" Tom hissed. "He abandoned my mother, he drove her to her death, he- he- muggles all deserve to-"

"Tom!" Merlin stopped him sternly, placing a firm hand on the boys shoulder, watching as he squirmed for a moment under another's touch before resorting to glaring at the floor uncomfortably. Merlin took his hand away, sighing loudly, this void was a lot deeper and darker than he had first envisaged.

"No one deserves anything for the sins of another. Whatever your father did, there's nothing you can do-"

"Nothing I can do?" Tom said quietly, a threat edged his voice. "Don't tell me there's nothing I can do, Mr Thomas. There's a lot more I can do than the rest of these ignorant children!"

Merlin took a step back, his brow furrowed in the deepest concern. "Tom, don't forget you are as much a child as they are. You may have magic but that doesn't mean you are any better than muggles. They have done a lot more for wizards than wizards have ever done for them."

"And that's how it should be." Tom stated in defiance of Merlins words. "You show me you are a Wizard and then you turn out to be a muggle-lover? I should think I should find someone else to teach me."

Merlin knew Tom was lying. He had no one else to teach him, but he was playing Merlin anyway.

"I haven't agreed to teach you yet. It is possible that you don't deserve to learn- nor should you at such a young age." Merlin speculated. He had just about decided at this point- Tom needed to leave this place. He couldn't continue to survive here, just as Merlin had been at odds with the children in Ealdor, so was Tom here at Wools. Only, Tom hadn't any parent to help him and he would no doubt be receiving a Hogwarts letter soon... he couldn't wait any longer though. Toms situation was more grave than Merlin's had ever been and Merlin felt himself growing surer and surer of what needed to happen.

"How old are you, Tom?"

"Eleven." The boy replied proudly, and then his voice dropped to a pleading tone, "The magic reacts to my emotions. When I'm angry it does things... and I'm unable to control it. The ordinary children here fear it. They hate me for it, they never even tried to welcome me when I came here-"

"Perhaps because you never tried to welcome them either." Merlin muttered to himself, stopping the cunning boy in his tracks. He understood his game very well.

Tom opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, "Wh- why should I have welcomed them when they would only hate and abandon me anyway? They are below me." He finally answered.

"Do you really fear rejection from them, Tom?" Merlin said, walking towards the door, thinking more of his talk with Martha than of filtering his tongue, "Or do you you fear rejection from _me_?"

Merlin opened the door manually this time, shutting it quietly behind him and pacing quickly back down the hall. As soon as he left the landing the tension in the air seemed to leave and laughter filtered into his senses, simple happiness and excitement suffocated the air. He strolled into the common room with a smile and was met with a little cheer that made his cheeks flush. His eyes twinkled as he took in the children of Wools happily munching on the confectionery he had brought and Martha doing her rounds, picking up wrappers and telling everyone that they had to clean their teeth especially well tonight.

When she spotted Merlin, she made her way over, a curious crease in her brow. "That was more than five minutes, Mortimer." She said sternly and Merlin knew she wanted answers- she rarely used the first name he had chosen unless she was especially serious. Even less in front of the children.

"I've come to an important decision regarding Tom's welfare." Merlin replied, "if it would be okay, I would like to discuss it as soon as possible."

"You can stay over this evening, we can talk after dinner," she replied, "If the children even want to eat after what you've brought." She phrased it like a telling off but Merlin chuckled and she also adopted a small smile.

"I'll entertain them for a while, you go cancel dinner and put your feet up." Merlin said, smiling as Martha raised her eyebrows and took the pile of wrappers she was holding out to the kitchen, leaving him to it.

He had barely turned back to the room when the children were crowded around him, the older ones asking for him to do one of his tricks and the younger ones who had he had not yet met asking if he really was a magician. Merlin chuckled and obliged, picking up a plain wrapper from the side table and crumpling it in his hand, he threw it up in the air, there was a little flash of gold, barely noticeable as something other than the flicker of a light and Merlin caught the balled up wrapper firmly in his hand.

He crouched down, letting the children crowd around him in anticipation as he opened his outstretched hand to reveal not only a perfectly intact wrapper, but a boiled sweet still inside.

It was a simple trick really, less down to magic and more down to slight of hand in swapping the old wrapper for a sweet of the same variety but the children couldn't get enough of it. He ended up doing the replenishing trick with just about every child in the room before Martha came back in, saying that they would be having a light dinner, and that each of them had to eat a vegetable before they could leave the table.

As the children filed from the room, Martha turned to Merlin with a furrowed brow.

"The staff said they'll handle this evening for me, come, let's take a seat in the office."

Merlin followed Martha back into the hall, into a small room adjacent to the front door. It was dimly lit, with dark-green coloured walls and a high skirting board, a single desk stood against one wall and a set of drawn curtains stood behind a small table and a pair of chairs. Filing cabinets, some overflowing, were stacked beside the door. Merlin quickly took a seat, eager to start.

"So, what did you make of him?" Martha asked, eyes indicating the floor above where Toms bedroom was.

"I'm still not sure, I don't know enough about his background- but he can't stay here Martha. He just can't."

"So you're suggesting..."

"Yes. And as soon as possible."

"We've tried. No families will take him." Martha sighed, but Merlin sprung back with his answer.

"That's why I shall be taking him in."

Martha stilled in her seat. "Mortimer... I urge you to think a little more on this. It's not-"

"I have rarely been so sure of something in my life," Merlin said, reaching across the desk to lay his hand atop Martha's in earnest, "though I do have a few questions still."

"I don't know what you've seen in him." Martha said quietly, but nodded.

"What do you know of Tom's parents?"

Martha sucked in a breath, "His father, Tom Riddle Sr, was rumoured to have left his mother when she was with Tom. She died hours after he was born, some said from the birth itself... others say she just... gave up."

"She came here? To the Orphanage?" Merlin pressed thoughtfully.

"Yes, that's where she gave birth. A few months after your last visit. She had just enough time to name the boy before she died." Martha said solemnly.

"What was her name, his mother?" Merlin asked, hopeful.

"Merope, I believe." Martha answered, taking a moment to process her memory. Merlin imagined she didn't often bring such a subject to mind.

"Surname?"

"I couldn't say, we just knew she needed help, that was all. There were few questions asked that night. If it is any use, he was also named after his grandfather- Marvolo."

Merlin sat back in his chair a moment, the silence filling the room. He wracked his brains. Merope and Marvolo... Marvolo and Merope... he tested the names on his tongue and they rolled off so easily he knew they should mean something to him. He cursed himself for travelling these past twelve years, his knowledge of the wizarding families of England had been pushed from his mind. He would have to go to the books.

"Does anything... unusual... happen around Tom? Perhaps when he is angry, or sad?" Merlin said, moving on from the question of family.

"It's funny you should ask that." Martha said, a small smile playing on her lips that held no mirth. "The things are a little more... sinister than your party tricks."

"I'm sure." Merlin said in a low voice. "Can you describe any?"

"He liked to scare the children, you know, in the earlier days. I'm sure he still has a whole collection of his "trophies" in that wardrobe. But in the last year... after the incident at the beach, he's been incredibly isolated."

"Trophies?"

"The children's toys. You barely see him any more now though. Meals are sent up to his room- after one of the staff got a nasty burn at dinner. Mentioned Toms mother, tried to cheer him up. Scalding hot water everywhere."

"So because he was a danger to the children... you've made him a danger to himself." Merlin said bitterly. "You just can't win sometimes."

"No." Martha said quietly, deadly serious. "But I cant jeopardise the safety of the others. Tom is a lost cause. A devilish boy. I often dread to think what he's doing up there, but no one dares knock and see." She almost hissed the last part, he eyes glassed over in bitterness. Merlin had to agree, it was infuriating. He wondered what it was that had attached him to such a vile boy so quickly.

"You mentioned another incident- at the beach."

"Last year. We took the children, a harmless outing. Tom took two into a cave, no doubt charmed them into an adventure of sorts. They were never the same afterwards. Won't talk about what happened there to this day."

"And you say... Tom isolated himself from then on?"

"Well, he'd already begun to. Drawing into himself, very thoughtful all of a sudden. He was nonetheless cruel, until he came back from that trip and seemed to put himself above it all. It wasn't that he'd changed or anything, he just seemed to think that playing tricks was no longer worth his time. Something in that cave... escalated everything."

"He's certainly sinking." Merlin agreed, processing the new information. "Whatever it was, Tom has got far bigger plans on his mind now. He's working hard up in that room."

Martha raised her eyebrows, "He let you in?"

"You give him a reason to want to talk... and he will. You must know he plays games, Martha. You just have to play them back." Merlin explained. It was almost entirely truthful.

Martha smiled to herself.

"I've no idea why I let you try to talk to him in the first place. Perhaps you just have a way with these things."

"Experience, mainly." Merlin commented, "So, how are we going to go about this?" He reiterated, rolling his shoulders and taking off his thick grey duffel coat, hanging it on the back of his chair.

"You still want to adopt him? Surely with your lifestyle-"

"I will make sure I am here for the rest of his schooling. Twenty years or so is not so long to stick around." Merlin assured, noting the old curiosity return to Martha's expression when he mentioned time. Time for him was not the same as time for her, and she seemed to have cottoned on that Merlin was possibly older than he appeared.

"You will tutor Tom? He is incredibly apt, there is little the teacher here can do for him."

"I have something in mind." Merlin said.

"I still don't think this is wise, Mr Thomas. What with all the... _incidents_ around Tom, not to mention his very nature. We have tried to get him assessed by a professional... but circumstances always arise... people suspect it may be Toms doing keeping them away." Martha actually looked concerned, worried.

"Martha, you have to trust me. I know Tom has been written off. I can see it in your eyes now, and in the children's before- you think he is too far gone." Merlin said, leaning forward again over the table, a tiny simmering of anger in his voice as he brought to the surface a memory of a woman from long ago.

"I knew someone once. Too many people failed her too many times. Very few noticed her sinking so when she did turn- no one thought to pull her out. I was the only one who saw. I was the only one who could have helped her... but I didn't. I didn't dare try, because I was too scared of the consequences that would befall myself. So when she fell to the darkness, _that was on me_." Merlin blinked back the water from his eyes.

Guilt was an ever present ghost. It followed Merlin like a shadow, banished only partially by the days distractions and consuming his dreams. He could not- _would not_ \- let Tom fall. A challenge? Yes. Dangerous? Certainly. But he had to do it.

"Oh God above," Martha sighed, leaning back in her chair, "this is going to be a lot of paperwork, Mortimer."

 _Hey! Thanks for reading the first chapter.. Who ever you may be. I've written a multi- chaptered fic before, but let's just say... It's on Wattpad for a reason._

 _I'm hoping I can take what I've learnt from that fic and apply it to this story, which has been planned and put together with a lot more thought. It won't be perfect, but I hope you enjoy the ride anyway._

 _I've put quite a bit of research into dates in this fic, so hopefully it will follow a consistent timeline, that fits into HP cannon along the way. Tom was born on December 31st 1926, Merlin visited Wools in the summer of that year before going travelling. Tom would start Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1938, with his letter arriving a few months prior, which is why I have decided to set the first chapter in March 1938._

 _Yours, Hedge_

 _(Revised: May 2020)_


	2. Chapter 2: The House on Pennethorne Road

_Apologies for long authors note at the end of this chapter, but I'll keep this one short. In the middle of my mock exams at the moment so sorry for slow update- I promise I will be continuing with this story for the foreseeable future.. but slow progress is probable._

The house on the corner of Pennethorne Road

~20th May, 1938...

Merlin had expected to return to Wools as soon as he could. After all, he owed it to Martha and the children there after twelve years travelling on the mainland. He hadn't, however, expected to be back within a month.

He also hadn't been expecting to adopt a certain boy named Tom, but that was a whole other worry. Martha had been right about the paperwork, and if she had found it pressing that was nothing on Merlin. His backstory was foolproof for everyday life, but there had been no end to the legal tweaks, checks and records he had needed to make to 'Mr Mortimer Artemis Thomas' to make him viable for parenthood.

After all the long hours they'd spent together on this, Martha had quickly realised that Merlins mind would not be swayed on the matter, and perhaps more slowly she had come onto the same page as him about it. She had said to him in their final meeting before today, as Merlin shook out his hand-cramp in between signing all the final documents, that maybe it really was for the best. That Tom would benefit from Merlins care, rather than destroy the flicker of hope Merlin still held for the boy within the first week, as the stern lady had previously thought.

Secretly, though, Merlin suspected that Martha had been on board with the process much longer. She had certainly gone out of her way to make the daunting task of adoption easier for Merlin, and she had often commented how strange it was that Tom himself had taken the news so well.

"You've put a genuine spell on the lad." She had said, that spark of interest playing on her subtly curious features, "I often wonder what it is about you that can break down walls such as Toms, but it will nonetheless be a dangerous game to play."

"I know." Merlin had replied earnestly. He tried to get a hold of the worming anxiety that had flared up within him yet again as he thought of the task before him. He checked his pockets again: train fare, keys, chocolate... he ran through his crumpled muggle underground map once more before stowing it at last in his pocket. There was no use fretting anymore.

As confidently as he could muster, Merlin rang the Orphanage bell. Martha answered quickly this time and in a bit of a blur Merlin passed through the main hall with her and onto the landing, butterflies flitting about his abdomen relentlessly. And there he was, pristine and cool as always- not a hair out of place.

"Oh- Tom, you're already packed." Martha said, upon spotting the boy as he exited his dank little box room for what Merlin realised was probably the last time. Despite the revelations Martha may have had about Tom, Merlin realised that the tiniest hint of fear was instilled in her tone even as she spoke to the boy now. Tom noticed it too. Merlin swallowed as he watched the pale boy smile sweetly at Martha, concealing a hint of glee in his charming features.

Merlin found himself gulping a little at the reality of having Tom in front of him again. The boy loved to be feared, so Merlin knew he would have to keep his own nervousness under lock and key. It hit him again how important it was that he did this. Not just for Tom, but for all the others he might harm if he didn't change. He felt as though he was standing at the base of the tallest mountain in the world.. and already a blizzard was blowing strong.

"Tom, so good to see you again." Merlin greeted calmly, a jolly stride in his step as he snapped back into action and walked over to shake Toms hand. Tom took it purposely with a firm but relaxed shake.

 _Oh, here's a boy who knows his way 'round a charm._ Merlin thought, an image of his own younger self forming in his mind- able to employ the perfect etiquette at any moment. It had certainly been useful, noble visitors tended to forgive the clumsy servant when he demonstrated he could use a teaspoon with perfection. Well, apart from Arthur... Merlins thoughts trailed a frown into his face and he realised this a second too late.

After a polite hello, Merlin asked if Tom had been well, and told him briefly of their travel arrangements as they made their way downstairs to the main hallway. Tom held his plain, dusty leather suitcase firmly in one arm as he walked, crisp brown jacket angling his shoulders in a perfect posture. He responded to Merlins small talk in short, trained responses, betraying to Merlin that his mind was on other things. They stopped in the hallway and Martha said something along the lines of "popping to get Toms lunch from the kitchen." before she disappeared from the hall.

Now alone, Merlin turned quickly to Tom, keeling down in front of him so his lanky form could meet the boy at eye level.

"Now," he said, "We've got quite a lot of settling in to do today but I promise we will have a sit down and talk various things over," Merlin let a pause follow to make sure Tom understood what he was leaving unsaid. The boy nodded eagerly and Merlin continued, "I think, it would be a good idea to go and say goodbye to the other children now."

Tom scoffed as soon as the words left Merlins mouth. "They'll be grateful I'm gone, trust me Mr Thomas."

"Tom..." Merlin said in a low voice, "These children, like it or not, have been your company your whole life. In the very least you owe them a goodbye."

Tom shook his head, smiling sadly at Merlin, "You can't expect me to say goodbye to that lot. I'll forget about them all soon enough anyway."

Merlin reached forward and gripped Toms shoulders sternly, "If you do nothing else before you go," he said in a quiet voice with a hint of threat he didn't know he possessed, "you will say goodbye to those children. They have done you no harm and you know it. No one, is not worth a goodbye." Merlin finished in what had become a harsh whisper. Bitterly, he remembered his last words to the witch, Morgana. If nothing, he had said goodbye.

Tom seemed to stiffen at Merlins delivery and he nodded quietly, dropping his suitcase and trudging silently over to the common room, slipping inside. The door shut with a click and Merlin was left alone on his knees in the hallway.

He sighed, releasing the pressure that had built up in his shoulders. It meant a lot to him that Tom said goodbye now. He wasn't sure why exactly, but he felt as though it would be wrong for him to leave without a word. He began to stand up slowly and it was at this point that Martha came out of the dinning room door on the right side of the hall with a paper bag in hand. She frowned when she saw Merlin alone in the hall.

"Where is he?" She asked, placing the sandwich bag on top of Toms suitcase.

"Saying goodbye to the children." Merlin replied.

Martha practically spluttered at Merlin. "He's.. what?"

Merlin shrugged and smiled, "What can I say, I've just got that 'effect on him'."

Martha playfully slapped his arm in response. "I keep saying that because it's true," she said, "I didn't believe it at first, but I think you may be able to save that boy."

"I hope so." Merlin said, tone snuffing out the light mood of their conversation. The weight of his task weighed heavy on his mind and he grimaced at the floor, biting the inside of his lip.

"If you ever need me," Martha said quietly, putting an arm around the dejected looking man.

"Thanks, Martha. For everything."

"You too."

There was a dim silence in which Merlin adjusted his coat collar and picked up Toms case, making his way over to the vestibule. Tom returned soon after from the common room, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Bye." The boy said quietly, taking his sandwich bag and nodding to Martha. He wandered over to Merlin and together the two of them pulled open the old Victorian door and stepped out into the grey London morning.

Martha found a bag of chocolates on her desk later that day. Smiling to herself, she stowed the accompanying note into the breast-pocket of her dress. It all made sense to her now.

-later-

When they rounded the corner of the street, Merlin could tell Tom wasn't impressed. He saw the tiny slither of excitement fade from the boys features as soon as he realised that Merlins house was _ordinary_.

Pennethorne Road was neither too close nor too far from central London. South of the Thames, it's yellow-bricked Victorian houses formed a neat and quiet street. Merlin was grateful to own the house here, as it was always a comfortingly ordinary and rather unchanged neighbourhood to return to after a trying day.. Or a trying twelve years. He'd rented it out while he was away, but enchantments within the house kept all of his own belongings in order for when he returned. He'd set up a room for Tom the night before, and he hoped that it would at least be something to lift the boy from his mood.

It was mainly Merlins fault, really. They'd caught the train from the Orphanage to the nearby station, with marginal success. Tom had first become impatient as Merlin studied the maps for more than fifteen minutes, unused to ordinary public transport. The young Riddles temper had then descended into exasperation as Merlin had flustered about purchasing, and then promptly misplacing the tickets. When they had finally boarded the train, Merlin had felt Toms magic boiling beneath his surface. If he was going to avoid accidental magic outbursts, he was going to need to get better at this. Clumsiness he couldn't really account for, but he assured himself that the inevitable journeys to Kings Cross and Diagon Alley would be faultlessly smooth.

"Not what I expected from a man with a fortune, Mr Thomas." Tom commented, lifting his nose up at the house they had stopped by on the corner.

"I don't feel the need to show people what I have just for the sake of it," Merlin replied calculatingly, "because this house has everything I need, the rest can sit quietly in the bank."

Tom scoffed quietly to himself, shaking his head at the ground. Merlin pursed his lips, taking his keys out of his pocket and making his way through the front garden. This side of Tom was going to be like prying the 'Prince' out of Prince Arthur.

"I'll show you around first," Merlin said as the lock on the door clicked and he stepped inside the hallway, flicking a switch to illuminate the entrance way, "Then we'll sit down and have a chat." He squinted into the din of the rest of the house. "I really need to look at re-doing this place. It really is lacking proper lighting. Well, opening the curtains would be a start-" Merlin stopped, realising that Tom had frozen in the doorway, no longer listening.

Of course, the house may have looked ordinary on the outside, but within.. That was a different story. Whilst being so preoccupied about setting off on the right foot, he had forgotten to prepare Tom for his first glimpse of a wizarding household.

"Did you put those people in there?" Tom asked with an unnerving innocence, pointing to a painting that was on the wall opposite the coat hooks. As usual, it was moving.

"Gods, no Tom. They're not real. It's just a fond view of mine." Merlin replied quickly, taking a moment to watch the endless sea crash against the tumbled rocks on the cliff-side within the painting. A clump of sea pinks rippled in the foreground so vividly that Merlin could almost hear them rustle together in the wind, the roar of water in the background. A couple of figures strolled calmly by, as though they hadn't a care in the world...

He blinked out of his musings, placing his keys on a shelf by the door.

"Do you really keep your house locked with one set of keys?" Tom asked, eyebrows raised at Merlin in a way that made him feel almost patronised. The small moment of discovery had passed and Tom Riddle had risen back above everything, seeming totally at ease once more. Merlin had to admire it, just a little.

"Doesn't everyone?" He said, answering Tom, "But no, I don't. It's a little more complex than it looks."

"How does it work?" The boy asked, his eyes curious but perfectly calm and Merlin knew he was being played again.

"That's a story for another time." He answered with finality. He wasn't about to share information on his house security that easily. Tom to nodded submissively, as you would to a Gentleman or a professional. Martha had mentioned his impeccable manners and the he could use them to sway anything to his advantage, and Merlin suspected he was just scratching the top of the iceberg. He knew himself from his Camelot days, that a lot could be won on impeccable manners and he couldn't deny having played on several lords and royals in his time to get what he needed.

"We'll take your bag to your room first, eh?" Merlin said, breaking the silence that had slunk in between them. Tom remained at ease. Merlin, deciding that he needed to get used to it as much as Tom did, reached inside his coat to pull out a thin, stuffed wooden rod. Unicorn hair, flexible and 13 inches, apparently. Though it didn't really matter since Merlin just pretended to use the thing. He pointed it at the small brown suitcase at Toms feet, causing it to rise smoothly from the ground, a metre or so at first, but after Merlin flicked a second light switch, illuminating the narrow set of stairs against the wall, it shot up out of sight.

Without a word, Tom strode quickly up the stairs after it with an unreadable expression on his face. Merlin could stab a guess that Tom wanted to find out exactly how the spell worked, in order to try it for himself. Merlin followed Tom and the case more slowly, turning the landing lights on with a snap of his fingers. He found Tom in the centre of the room that used to belong to a whole host of Merlins crud that he had cleared away with the difficulty of a chronic hoarder. He wasn't really a hoarder himself, but it just so happened that you tended to collect a lot of crap worth keeping when you lived for over a thousand years.

"I gathered you didn't want anything flashy," Merlin said as he came up behind Tom, "but I hope this is okay."

Tom didn't reply a first, choosing to take a little walk around the perimeter of the room, letting each detail sink in. He scrutinised each of the moving paintings, lifted up the corners of the plain striped duvet cover and ran his fingers across the block coloured dusty grey walls. But inevitably he couldn't keep his eyes from the ceiling long. Despite the blank slate he had seen of Toms room at the orphanage, Merlin couldn't keep the whole thing so.. Grey. It just wasn't his nature. The ceiling had a somewhat three dimensional appearance to it, much like he had seen from his brief visits to Hogwarts in the past, it was as though someone had taken a slice out of a clear night sky. He was quite pleased with it, really. Mesmerising blinks of light endlessly dotted through a deep rich coloured sky that melted from hue to hue. Purples, navy, pinks and even shades of green, not so much that it was blinding, but just enough to bring a simplistic beauty to the suspended slice of surreality.

"It's quite a feat Mr Thomas." Tom said at last. "I was always fascinated by the stars. A distant power we cannot quite conceive of, existing entirely separate from our own ideas of time."

Merlin was stumped by the eloquence as well as the irony of his answer. The old Warlock had tried so hard to move with the pace of modern society.. But despite everything he'd always felt at a distance. A year was a blink in his existence, and it saddened him whenever he thought of it. Lingering on, that's what it was. Lingering like a bad smell.. Or so it could be. But Merlin was determined to do something with the unimaginable amount of time that had been thrust upon him. Tom was going to do very nicely.

"Magic is a wonder and a beauty in its truest form, I've always believed that." Merlin replied. Tom seemed to think on this deeply for a moment.

"I can barely wait to master it. To understand something so wonderful so completely would surely give a man power beyond the stars," he began and Merlins smile dropped sadly from his face, "but it is beautiful, thank you."

The smile returned to Merlins features. That was it, he'd seen it at last. The real Tom had broken through without a snide or twisted comment on his tongue. That was all Merlin needed.

"Come," he said, "I'll show you 'round and you can unpack after dinner."

Tom followed him quietly on a tour of the house: the bathroom; the old laundry room that Merlin had turned into a cramped book store; the din living room with a couple squashy arm chairs; the round dinning table beside a large oak cabinet with all manner of odds and ends stored behind its glass cupboards and finally the kitchen. Merlin swept over to where the kettle was sitting, on the side of the little island where two stools were kept. Then, taking his wand again, he brought two cups from one of the overhead cupboards on the back wall.

"Tea?" He said merrily. Tom nodded quietly, eyes fixed on a door that joined the kitchen and the hall to the back of the house.

"What's in that room?" He asked, stopping Merlin cautiously in his tracks as he lit the stove under the kettle with a flick of his wrist. He regained his composure as fast as he could but he knew Tom had seen him falter.

"That's my study. It's a bit cramped with everything from my travels and all the things that were in your room, so it's, let's just say 'out of bounds'. If that's okay."

Tom considered this a moment as Merlin handed him a steaming cup of Earl Grey. "Alright." He said, but Merlin heard the silent thought that followed: _for now_.

 _Not likely_ , Merlin thought. That room had the strongest wards in the house, such that the founders combined would struggle to break them. If Tom got in there, for one thing it would be a complete shock and for another, Tom would discover exactly who Merlin really was. Neither appealed to him.

By the time he had sat himself down beside Tom on one of the stools, Merlin had a host of questions lined up to tactfully get through, but before he could say anything, Tom asked a rather blunt one of his own.

"So why have you really decided to adopt me, Mr Thomas?"

Merlin chewed the inside of his mouth a moment, taking a sip of his tea to buy time as he carefully chose his words. "I think," he said, "that we will both benefit from each others company." Tom gave him a look that told him he wasn't going accept a vague answer of any sort, no matter how Merlin phrased it.

"I am getting on, and not settled down with anyone," Merlin began, and not planning on any settling, he added silently before continuing. "Even after founding the orphanage I always wondered what it would be like to raise a child myself. I never thought I would until I met you, Tom. It's not often a wizard stumbles into an Orphanage, and I got the distinct feeling that you were not a boy tailored to life at Wools." Merlin explained, treading the thin line between how Tom believed he had been superior to the children at Wools and how Merlin knew that he was a danger there. "A bit of solitude can be a great relief, but we all need a source of company- else we will forget what it is to be human."

"My _company_ wasn't welcomed by any of the children at Wools," Tom said, almost spitting the word 'children', "and you're telling me that I made it worse by keeping my distance?"

"Yes, because you became dangerous to yourself. Your magical core has developed a very low tolerance due to your limited exposure to anything outside your comfort zone. You may have noticed it has been knotting your stomach all day." Merlin replied, hoping that Tom would see reason if he brought his magic into this. Like the flick of a switch Toms eyes lit up eagerly.

"Of course, that makes sense. Do you think it became stronger?"

Merlin let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. "More wild and erratic, yes- but stronger? Well, you will find it harder to control for one thing, but that is something we can work on."

Tom nodded seriously, taking it all in. "When can we start? When can I finally learn to use it?"

Merlin sensed a little frustration in his tone, but saw the opportunity to finally ask his own questions. "I need to fill you in on a few things first," he said, "we can start now with a few questions."

Tom nodded, "Ok."

"When did you realise that you could do unusual things? You seem to have a bit of knowledge of what being a wizard entails but when did you connect the strange occurrences to magic?" Merlin began.

"I've known I'm different since as far back as I can remember. It's hard not to notice, and last year I decided that I wanted to read up on it. I wanted to know what else I could do with it." Tom replied, and Merlin was pleased that his timeline was tying in with how Martha had told him, that Tom had isolated himself. Merlin had seen for himself that the boy had hit the books when he had visited the Orphanage in March.

"It took quite a lot of searching but I came across several accounts of instances like mine, and the things I was able to do happening elsewhere. Of course, nobody else had taken the authors seriously- none of them knew what I knew. So I had figured that I must be one of a rare number of people, with powers much above the ordinary. Your introduction was exactly the proof I needed." Tom said, displaying to Merlin the strength of his own drive. At such a young age, to piece such things together so quickly was quite incredible.

Merlin paused to collect his thoughts- Tom knew he was different, but he didn't seem to inherently know of the wizarding world. He still didn't quite understand what had motivated the young Riddle to delve into his history and launch such an investigation but he knew it must've had something to do with the cave incident Martha had vaguely described. He decided it wouldn't be a good idea to ask about something like that so soon. He had to gain Toms trust.

"You also mentioned knowing that your mother had magic." Merlin continued, putting another half-spoon of sugar in his tea to Toms slight amusement. Merlin was allowed to be a little odd, given his circumstances. A stupidly sweet tooth for an adult man was hardly much of an ask.

"I read into my family history, naturally." Tom answered before Merlin could even place the question, "It was rather obvious, really. My mother was a descendant from a large and once wealthy family- one of power. It was surely only right that my mothers ancient family would be the ones with my gift." Merlin internally groaned. Because Tom was exactly right- the ancient wizarding families had kept such a long seat in power because of their magic and influence, and it had always sickened Merlin to think of. He kneaded his forehead in dread.

"Gaunt?" He asked quietly, and he felt Tom stiffen with curiosity.

Merlin took that as an affirmative. The books hadn't lied, the hefty tomb, _'On The Great Wizarding Families of Britain'_ had always been a reluctant purchase of Merlins, but suffice to say- he had needed to consult it more than he liked. He had mentally kicked himself for not remembering the name immediately after reading up on Merope and Marvolo, and as soon as he had found the name the night after visiting Wools he had known immediately.

The Gaunts. Descendants of Salazar Slytherin, the pure-blooded, bigoted family had squandered their wealth of old, clinging only to their false impression of their 'noble heritage'. Perhaps there was a sliver of the calculated and cool nobility that Salazar had carried within Tom. Or perhaps Merlin was just getting his hopes up.

"The Gaunt family was indeed a wizarding family, though it surprises me how you would know that the magical gift is passed through blood." Merlin finished with a short sigh.

"Nothing appears from nowhere Mr Thomas." Tom replied, and Merlin nodded to himself.

There was a pregnant pause in which Merlin took a long sip of his drink, realising with a little disappointment that it had gone an unpleasant luke-warm.

"Well," he said at last, "That's all the questions from me. I think a little bit of a wider introduction is due."

Thinking about it, Merlin disagreed with a lot of the modern wizarding culture. Many wizards seemed to believe their place above muggles in society as a given, thinking it okay to constantly modify their memories and often treat them like animals. Merlin disliked the Statue of Secrecy also, but he understood that if the wizarding community was to return to modern day life, it was very probable that neither side would be able to cope. Merlin thought miserably to the advantage people like Tom might try to take on muggles if the Statue fell. Perhaps one day they'd be ready- but not yet.

Merlin did his best to fill Tom in on the basics of wizarding society, and though the boy put on a good attempt at hiding it, Merlin could tell it was all new to him. Something in his eyes drank up the new information with a hunger that Merlin had rarely seen. The desire to understand, to master, to conquer all that he learned and surveyed was a driving force in what Merlin had observed in Toms nature. Merlin did his best to tame this, by relating each of the wizarding features he described to a muggle appliance. The owl system was very much like the human postal service, and Hogwarts was very much like a boarding school. He hoped, if he religiously instilled the similarities between muggles and Wizards to Tom, the boy would somehow not adopt the extreme views of the Gaunts, or, albeit many of the Slytherins.

"How big is this.. Underground community?" Tom asked a little while into Merlins tale.

"A fraction of the size of muggle Britain. Not close to reach a million in this country- but there are many of us across the world. We have our own government, laws, transport.. And schools."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yep." Merlin answered, "Hogwarts is the wizarding school here in Britain. It's an incredible place, and you'll be going there no doubt."

"When?" Tom asked eagerly.

"September- you'll get a letter within the next couple months." Merlin explained, watching Toms reaction carefully. The boy paused, smiling to himself for a moment, before answering.

"I've got to make sure I'm the greatest wizard that they've ever seen."

 _I wanted to show Merlins first proper impression of Tom, having established exactly what the boy knows and what is completely new to him of the wizarding world. I also wanted to highlight how the pair may just be quite similar, as that was one of the main reasons I planned this fic. I think that even though Toms motives may be skewed and twisted besides Merlins, that Tom is quite alike to Merlins younger self (minus the clumsiness), and that's part of the reason Merlin feels so attached to him. Like Gilli in 3x11, he sees himself in Tom and feels the need to help him._

 _Pennethorne Road is a place I carefully selected in London. There's a station nearby that goes to Kings Cross and while it's a nice looking Victorian residential area, it's also not too far from the centre of the city. It would be around in the 1920's (Victorian)._

 _Another note being thanks for all the favourites, follows and reviews for this story so far. It's not perfect, obviously, and while I have thought things out there are going to be a few flaws. So thanks for all the constructive reviews, I'm very grateful for you taking time out of your days to share your thoughts. I've tried to grammar check this one more thoroughly, so hopefully nothing has slipped.._


	3. Chapter 3: The Letter

_Hi all, thanks for all your favourites, follows and reviews. Happy New Year._

~16th June, 1938..

May had passed into June quicker than Merlin had expected. Tom, who had remained stony as ever for the most part of this, was settled into life on Pennethorne road at last. He had remained quiet most days, speaking only when he needed to and accompanying Merlin with minimal reluctance on various outings.

Merlin had tried to slip in little life lessons whenever he could. Tom came to the market with him every week and they had also visited many other simple attractions of Muggle London. At first, when Merlin had begun to implement these outings Tom had been visibly uncomfortable with having to interact with muggles. Now he had knowledge that the wizarding world was truly out there, Merlin suspected that Tom despised how Merlin had not yet introduced him to any of it and he was being forced to lead a Muggle life when a whole wealth of power lay dormant at his fingertips.

It was plain to see, tricks about the house and tales of Diagon Alley were no longer enough.

Tom had made very little real progress when it came to interacting with muggles, he seemed only to put up with them more now. Merlin had expected the going to be slow, however, so he was not alarmed by this. He hadn't, however, realised what a problem the prospect of the magical world and Hogwarts would become.

The school loomed on an ever closer horizon, and Merlin was having to reconcile with the fact that he would have to let Tom go. They had but a few months together before the old Warlock would be forced to send Tom where he would no longer be under his supervision. It was putting him at odds with the boy because he could tell how badly Tom wanted to go. Whilst Merlin had no doubt the boy would make an excellent student- his magical core was stronger than most- he was only scared what might become of Tom himself. Would all the progress Merlin hoped to make be lost in the Hogwarts environment? Would Tom dominate and manipulate as he was capable of? Or was there a chance that the orphan boy would be left in the dust to brood into something even worse?

To Merlin, he could see no successful path through school. But he held out hope. In first year, there was surely little harm that could be done. He told himself this though he hardly believed it, he knew full well that underestimating someone was never wise. The only thing he was certain on, was that Tom had to attend Hogwarts. He was adamant in his mind that Tom needed the social exposure if he was ever to escape the state all his isolation had put him in. But even this rational thinking could not overpower the gnawing feeling of attachment that had formed within Merlin.

Tom was a project, that was for sure. An ambitious but important project. But Tom was also a lost little boy whom no one had given a chance. Spawned from an unsettling heritage, a victim of circumstance who needed someone to teach him what it was to be human. Tom was someone who had had to build himself on paper thin foundations and needed all the support he could get, not to mention there was still that part of the boy who reminded Merlin of his younger self. Or, what his younger self could have become.

A cruel and harsh world bred cruel and harsh people, and though Merlin couldn't ever hope to break such a cycle on his own.. he could try all he could. He was older now, harder now, and wiser now. He would not repeat his mistakes of the past so easily. Morgana had arguably been his greatest failure in his past life. A victim of the wrong people and a lack of guidance, just like Tom.

Merlin had been trying to force himself from the past, however, in order for his sole focus to lay on Tom's well-being, and they had begun to work on Tom's control over his magic. It was strange how quickly Tom could change from his quiet, brooding nature in the Muggle world, to his animated and determined attitude when magic was brought up. He had applied himself to the simple tasks Merlin had set him, concentrating on harnessing his magical core safely and improving his control and tolerance. This was perhaps the one area they had made the most progress, as Tom so readily and genuinely applied himself to it. The allure of feeling his own power and one day being able to use it was too much for Tom not to get stuck in.

The rest of the time he was impossibly difficult to break. But Merlin was beginning to manage it. He had realised within the first week that the only way for any of his lessons to stick was if he had first broken down Tom's mask. The real boy behind the walls. He tried to slip the notions of kindness and tolerance in wherever they went. Tom remained thoughtful of these things, but Merlin could not truly read him yet. He only hoped that at least something was sinking in.

Merlin had also been doing some thinking of his own. He had tried not to pry much further into Tom since the first day, when they had spoken of his family, but he knew he would have to venture in again soon. Parts of Tom's story just did not add up. Or rather, parts of Toms vocabulary didn't.

He had used the terms "Wizards" and "Muggles" in their first meeting at Wools without batting an eyelid. More importantly, he had used the phrases before even Merlin himself had used them. Wizard could certainly be allowed a lucky guess, but Muggle? Merlin had not noticed it in the moment, the word being so commonly used in modern wizarding society, it had slipped over his head. Not for long, however. He had racked his brains over many long evenings but he could not think of a sensible reason as to why Tom would know these words, and yet the rest of the magical world be so new to him. It was possible that Tom knew a lot more than he was letting on, and Merlin had only just scratched the surface, but surely a boy like Tom would not let his guard slip on such a tiny thing if he truly wanted to keep it under wraps.

He could think of no sensible sources where Tom could have picked up the word, as the Statue of Secrecy had been firmly in place now for almost three hundred years. No wizarding books could have escaped the ministry's surveillance, especially during the Grindewald debacle recently. Sure, the "accounts" Tom had found of people like him could be plausible, but the more Merlin thought about it the more unlikely it seemed that Tom could stumble upon such stories of strange events and manage to piece the picture together. He was smart, yes, but intelligence was not coincidence. Scouring libraries for this sort of stuff could take years, since most Muggles who had escaped wizarding encounters without memory modification were written off as mad. Any accounts from before the Statue would be seen as fiction, just like the legends of King Arthur.

It made Merlins head ache sometimes. He had seen Tom's furious work though, and he knew he was still working on it even now, as it was tucked in one of his drawers in his new room. The boy was still up to something and had apparently been for a year. Merlin had one lead from all of this, one still unexplored possibility. It seemed outlandish, but Martha had also seemed to believe that Tom's strange research had stemmed from there. The incident in the cave. The two children who were never the same.

Merlin sighed in his seat in the kitchen where he had been once again going over the same musings. He would have to ask Tom. Martha didn't know any more than she had told him and there was no way he would find answers through the poor children. He didn't want to jeopardise his relationship that he had built with Tom, but something within him told him that this plot hole couldn't go unsolved.

But for now, Merlin thought, there was a bigger thing at hand. He glanced across the work surface to where a letter sat quietly, face down. Addressed to Tom in a black elegant script, it set Merlins teeth on edge. _It was here._

The front latch clicked from down the hall.

Merlin sucked in a breath.

"It's here, isn't it."

The response had been immediate, as soon as Tom laid eyes on Merlin. He had known it was going to be any day now, and so had Tom. The boys growing anxiety and questions about the letter had not escaped Merlins notice. Merlin was sure he would become an incredible wizard- there was nothing to fret about there- so long as he learnt to keep himself at bay.

Seeing him brought back Merlins earlier thoughts. In the month that Tom had moved in, he had made all the outward appearances of a changed child. What Merlin knew, however, was that Tom was as manipulative as he was clever, and that innocent and good natured facade still held a fiery ambition behind it. With his troubled start to a childhood, the clear foundations for corruption were set, and Merlin could only hope that the inches they had truly moved forward would be enough to see him through Hogwarts. Once there, he would be unable to scry on Tom, due to the wards in place at the school, and though it sounded clingy- he really didn't want Tom to leave. He hated the idea of not being able to protect him anymore. He had even thought about keeping the boy under his watch and homeschooling him, but a hard truth was that the isolation would do more harm than the shot at freedom. Clinging to something wouldn't keep it entirely safe, and may even suffocate it in the process.

Merlin sighed. "It's here."

Tom raced across the hall to meet Merlin, casting his bag aside by the front door as he did so. Snatching the letter from Merlins hands across the work surface and only slowing down in his motions to meticulously open the wax sealed, parchment envelope. Merlin noticed as Tom slid the letter itself from the envelope that his hands were shaking.

"Come round here, let's read it through." Merlin said, beckoning him to sit on the stool next to him. Tom did so, and as he unfolded the letter Merlin took hold of one side to keep it steady as Tom took in the paper with such an expression that Merlin told himself he shouldn't be getting used to. Relief was certainly plain to see, the release of all the worries Tom had had over the past few weeks as he questioned if he was ever going to get a letter at all. In his eyes hung the same hunger, even greed that would set a mans teeth on edge.

He turned those deep, dark eyes, glassed over by all the emotion of the moment, to look at Merlin, opening his mouth.

"Tuesday." Merlin said, answering the question he sensed on Toms lips. "I'll take you Tuesday."

He'd been with Tom to the Leaky Cauldron on one occasion, but they'd never set foot in Diagon Alley itself. He knew Tom desperately wanted to go, but Merlin had wanted to wait just a little longer until he was comfortable to let the boy loose in the muggle world before he took him into the wizarding one on a firm leash. Speaking of which...

"How was the paper round?" Merlin said, standing up from where Tom was still pouring over the letter intently, turning to the kettle and absent-mindedly flicking the stove on with an twitch of his wrist. He hastily pulled out his stuffed stick and pretended to use it to get two cups from the overhead cupboard, and the tub of cocoa powder. Tom hummed in reply, muttering something about a tip from Mr Peterson on the corner.

"Oh, well that's nice of him. Did you say thank you?"

"Obviously" Tom muttered, running his finger over the wax seal and committing it to memory.

"I've no doubt, you're annoyingly polite sometimes. A bit of a charmer some would say."

Tom smiled at this, finally putting the letter down and turning to watch Merlin as he made the hot cocoa. "It pays to be nice to people Mr Thomas."

"It certainly does, it certainly does." Merlin said, rummaging in the fridge for the cream. "It's incredibly rewarding you know, being pleasant. You feel good about yourself."

"People will do things for you." Tom said, grabbing a couple spoons from a drawer.

"Yes, the odd favour is always nice. But sometimes I just like to do something nice for someone for nothing but my own happiness in return. It costs very little effort. For example, I made you cocoa. It's reward enough just watching you enjoy it." Merlin said, putting far too much cream atop the steaming liquid than was medically acceptable, and passing it to Tom with a flourish. Tom let out a small chuckle.

"I guess so." He said, but it was enough for Merlin. He could spot when someone was playing another face, so whenever Merlin saw Toms genuine side shine through with even the tiniest truthful pleasantness, he felt as though he could jump for joy. Progress was progress after all, and Merlin was starting to think he was getting good at it. Once that wall was down, Tom's true character could be opened up, and Merlins could finally work his magic for an outcome.

But the moments never lasted long, the guard was back up as soon as Merlin had taken a sip of his own cocoa.

"Would you allow me to do some reading before I go? Just to.. get some basic theory and-"

"I'm sure I've got a few books in my study," Merlin said, kneading his forehead as he cut off Toms silky drawl, "but you shouldn't feel pressured to rush into it. I have no doubt you will be at the head of your classes. It might be worth having a few set-up reads though." Perhaps, Merlin thought, licking some stray cream from his nose, it would be worth giving Tom a few.. how to phrase it.. planted reads. Just a couple books of Merlins personal choice to give him a set up of the founding of Hogwarts. Not such that would ground his prejudice further, reading about the unfortunate fall of Salazar Slytherin, but perhaps something from a time far before that. Where the seeds of the future of magic were truly first sown. Where Muggles and sorcerers lived together, and in harmony. Each equal to the other.

Perhaps Camelot would be a good place to start.

"I'll find you something for this evening." He said after a moment and Toms eyes lit up.

"Now," he said, smacking his lips, "Lets take a look at that list they've sent you."

It was just passing five thirty when Merlin emerged from his study and called Tom down from upstairs. He paused, listening to the movement above and tapping his fingers rhythmically against the books in his arms. He hummed a tune he subconsciously realised was a rendition of one of the Camelot courts favourite banquet accompaniments.

He made his way over to one of the three armchairs in the living room, Tom soon joining him in another, eyeing the books beadily across the coffee table. Merlin gave Tom a small smile, setting the books down in a neat stack on the table. Tom immediately reached forward for them and Merlin allowed himself a small amount of satisfaction as the Riddle boy began to flip through the pages of the top book: a small, leather-bound tomb whose faded cover titled _Camelot: The Establishment of Legend._

Sure, the book was dry in places, the author having a tendency to talk lengthily about the exact way the city was constructed in the first few chapters. Everything from the stone used in the great walls to the methods used to make the stained glass of the citadel courtyards, but he eventually got onto the social foundation and the bit Merlin was interested in. Merlin had picked it simply because it annoyed him the least of his unfortunate collection of books on Camelot. Dry, yes, but factual. The book actually talked relatively little of King Arthur and of the many ridiculous tales that had sprung up about him in the last millennium. Merlin liked it that way, for one thing it meant he could read about the city he had once loved without having to deal with the awful and frankly stupid misconceptions about what really happened, and the crushing guilt which came with every mention of his beloved King. For a second thing, and the reason he was giving the book to Tom, the author had focused on the social establishment of Camelot as a whole, and how the repeal of the ban on magic had lead to a harmonious society of sorcerers and muggles living equally- each with their own invaluable part to play in society, rather than simply focusing on a few characters.

Another book was a simple guide to the founding of the Ministry of Magic- it was an accurate and non-biased account, the sort of thing you would find in text-books, but Merlin knew Tom would lap up any knowledge of the wizarding world he could get. Plus, it would be useful for him to know how the ministry functioned.

Finally, Merlin had given Tom a book titled _Hogwarts: Famous Alumnae_. It did what it said on the tin, and there was little mention of the founders. He wasn't sure yet how he was going to go about the delicate matter of Salazar. Tom was, after all, his descendant. There was no knowing how he would react to such a heritage, or whether he knew already and to be honest Merlin didn't really want to think about that right now. He had known Slytherin very briefly, and rather distantly, but he had known him enough to be aware that the man was far more complex than the cruel and prejudiced figure that had gone down in writing. There were many rumours about what Salazar had left behind...

"Why this book?" Tom asked, leafing through the Camelot book across the room.

"Camelot was arguably the starting point for wizarding society as we know it. If you ignore all the ridiculous myth and legend, the city itself was just as incredible," Merlin mused, "But more importantly, it was _real_."

Tom nodded, understanding.

They were silent for a long time after that, Merlin thinking quietly to himself of all that had been. He had not stayed long in Camelot after Arthur... Well... Gwen had welcomed him back with the most open arms, and to this day he was still grateful for it. He had needed Gwen more than ever in those few years. Only she had known Arthur since the beginning of it all, only she had been through it all as Merlin had. Felt the wrath of Morgana; known her as she was before; seen Arthur grow; watched Uther fall...

The repeal of the magic ban had passed as a blur, nothing he remembered as happily as it should have been. His realisation of his own immortality had driven him painfully from the city after only a decade. He remembered his last words to everyone, he could never imagine forgetting a single one of them. He couldn't watch them die, as he had watched Arthur...

Merlin sucked in a slow breath, he couldn't be pulled into that now.

He turned his attention to Tom. The boy sat quietly reading through the first chapter of his Ministry of Magic history, concentration written clearly on his brow. Merlin wondered if it was worth a punt. Tom looked calm enough, and certainly satisfied for now, Merlin wondered if he'd open up for a bit of a favour. Whatever happened, addressing this was always going to be a massive risk.

Merlin sat back in his chair, thumb and forefinger nervously rubbing his clean-shaven chin. He had to know. But he was, quite honestly, terrified to jeopardise whatever connection he had built with Tom. The whole thing was resting very much on a strange mutual trust at the moment and even Merlins own curiosity could not convince him entirely that it was worth breaking that down for answers. It unsettled him, how Tom was able to scare him like that. They'd had no slip ups so far, no outbursts. The longer Tom lasted and the more control he learned over his magic, the more the tension built. Surely now that Tom had come on so well there was a reduced enough risk of an outburst that.. Merlin stalled, cursing himself.

He knew full well he could deal with a magical outburst from Tom, but the truth was he didn't want to. He didn't want it to come to that because he knew deep down he would truly have to face up to the importance of his task. Tom was powerful, and he could easily become the next Grindewald. Only Merlin stood in the way, and he would rather not face up to the pressure of the situation right now.

But it was necessary.

Merlin straightened up, attracting the attention of Tom from his reading.

"Could I ask you something?" There was no going back now. Merlin swallowed as Tom looked up from his books quietly and nodded.

"It's about something you said at Wools. I believe you... Called me a "Muggle lover" and I can't help but wonder how you knew the word." Merlin said carefully.

Tom had gone rigid.

"I told you," he said smoothly, body relaxing, "I knew I was different, I put in the work and the research and I was beginning to put together the skeleton of your world before you showed up and completed the picture, so to speak." His voice was enviably neutral, his face betrayed nothing but innocence. "I came across it in accounts, I suspected we would have a term for them all."

Merlins stomach churned. Tom spoke of muggles as almost animals.

"I don't believe you." Merlin countered bluntly. There was no delicate way to go about this with Tom, he was too perceptive.

Tom narrowed his eyes just a little, "Why? What could be unreasonable about that?"

"It's just that the more I think about it, the more unlikely it gets. The Statue of Secrecy is not something taken lightly, it is not often something slips through. I can perhaps allow you the coincidence of finding accounts of muggles seeing magic.. But there shouldn't be any source in muggle libraries where you could find the word. And as I said.. It all rests on coincidence."

"How else do you propose I came across it then." Tom said, it was not a question. He was calm in his seat, and if you didn't know him you would think the boy remained completely unfazed by the situation. But Merlin knew him. He could see the doubt in the boys cold eyes.

"That's what I'm asking you." Merlin said simply. "I am lead to believe that you know more about the wizarding world than you let on, and I can't think why."

Tom was silent for a long moment. "It seems strange to me," he said eventually, a small smile on his lips that set Merlins teeth on edge, "That you would ask me to open up, when you are clearly not willing to do the same."

The lump that had formed in Merlins throat dropped like a stone into his gut. _He knew_.

Tom's smile visibly grew and Merlin realised his surprise had crept onto his face. Was he surprised though? No, he should have known Tom would suspect immediately he wasn't all he made out to be. Merlin realised that he too had an out-of-bounds study that he was unwilling to share.

He needed to take a different approach. Tom was not going to speak to him unless Merlin gave him a reason to. It had to be in Tom's own interests to tell Merlin what he knew and how he knew it. He began to speak again, composure a renewed calm.

"Yes, I've got secrets, but the point is the more this bothers me, the more outlandish conclusions I am starting to draw. I am beginning to doubt everything you say- who is to know if I am seeing you or just an elaborate facade?" The irony was painful. Merlin reassured himself that even if he did live behind another name, unlike Tom, he had never hidden his personality or his nature. He was not the Merlin of legends, but he was still Merlin, in every way but his name.

Across the room, Tom bit his lip. "I've learnt to keep my guard up, Mr Thomas. You can hardly blame me."

"No, I can't. However I have trusted you enough to allow you into my home and I have been the only person to see something in you worth caring about. I would like to think I am owed your authentic self, when I have been nothing but kind to you."

Tom thought about this carefully. When the silence dragged for five minutes, Merlin decided to come at it a little more gradually.

"Had you ever met another Wizard before me?" He asked.

"No, I had not." Tom answered evenly. Merlin pondered him a moment, trying to gauge if he was lying or not. Somehow, he didn't think so. He hoped he was right.

"So if you didn't find it in a book, or hear it in person.. Where else could you have found knowledge?" Merlin said aloud, looking around the room as if searching for answers right in front of him. His eyes eventually settled back on Tom.

"If you're trying to talk the answer out of me, you won't." The boy said simply, "Perhaps you were mistaken? You never heard me say such a thing?"

"I'm certain I wasn't." Merlin said, smiling. "You can't talk me out of asking you, either."

Tom raised his eyebrows at Merlin, a challenge in his eyes.

"Well," Merlin said, "perhaps you'll allow me to ask about something else entirely unrelated?" He didn't expect to fool Tom with this, but he hoped to keep the conversation in this uneasy lighthearted state. Tom often enjoyed a conversation match in the evenings to keep himself entertained. Merlin often wondered if Tom was trying to puzzle him out in the same way.

Tom made no objection, so Merlin continued, "You went on a trip with the Orphanage, last summer?"

Tom nodded slowly, calculatingly.

"To the beach, I believe. And it was there that you found a cave." Merlin stated, making Tom sit forward slightly in his seat. He cocked his head in mock curiosity, but Merlin saw the glint of anger in his eyes.

"You took two children into that cave, and I'm told that they were never the same again." Merlin finished, watching Tom sternly. The boys reaction was unexpected.

"I suppose that was Martha who told you all that." He said, only he lightly spat out Martha's name in barely concealed frustration. "Don't bother with what she says to you. She tried to get me sent off to various institutions, the filthy muggle-"

"Tom!" Merlin growled, putting an end to the boys rant. "You do not use that language within my house."

Tom, knuckles white clutching the books on his lap, took a deep breath. Merlin had begun to feel his magic simmering within him and he hoped that the control exercises he had given would be enough, because Merlin wasn't finished yet.

"Martha is a woman who has my complete respect. She-"

"You respect her? After all she did to me?" Tom said so quietly that it sent the hairs on the back of Merlins neck on end. "You're a Wizard!" He cried, "I thought you'd understand!" Magic crackled in the air around Tom, his neatly combed hair ruffled in the strange breeze that had swept up in the room.

Toms control lasted only a moment longer, he had stood up out of the arm chair and almost immediately all the glass in the cabinet beside him had shattered outwards. The room crackled with magic, sparks igniting the stove across the room and pressure cracking the two empty cocoa mugs out on the side.

" _Hilderand_ " Merlin whispered, throwing an arm out towards Tom. The shield surrounded him for a moment, as the force of his own magic threw him off his feet. Shards of glass showered over Merlin as all of a sudden the magic evaporated. Merlin began to breath deeply, surveying the damage warily.

The sound of shattering glass had left a deafening silence in its wake and Merlin felt as though he was watching the scene from afar. Slowly, very slowly, Tom got shakily to his feet. He looked around him a moment, drinking in the sight with pitiless eyes. He glanced down at his own hands, examining them carefully.

It was a while before he realised Merlin was there, Tom locked their eyes with a hard stare.

"I-" Merlin croaked, attempting to shake some of the glass out of his hair and noting that he had several small cuts bleeding down his arm.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said sheepishly, embarrassment creeping into his tone, "I should have seen that coming."

Still Tom didn't move, he stared Merlin down, fists clenched at his side.

"I-I can mend all this," Merlin waved a hand, indicating the chaos around them, at a loss of what to do, "I was always breaking things as a kid."

He shakily pulled his wand from his pocket, flicking it towards the cabinet. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair as the glass on the ground was pulled by an invisible force back into the cabinet frames. Tom watched this all silently and it worried Merlin that the boy wasn't reacting. He couldn't read him at the moment at all, and that scared him.

"Argh," Merlin muttered, "I should have known it would end like this." He found himself thinking back to the many outbursts he'd had as a child. At first, he had been shocked that the magic he had usually had such tight control over could lash out like that. The more he had been forced to suppress it, the more liable to an outburst he had become. This particular incident from Tom had probably been building for a few days. Merlin kicked his foot into the rug in frustration. He had missed all the signs, he had let it go too far. At least he was sure now, for better or for worse, Toms magic was far above average in its strength.

"That feeling when it suffocates the air around you.. I know all too well." Merlin found himself saying, unsure why. Anything to fill the silence was welcome. "You think you've got a hold on it and then, it just takes on a mind of its own."

"I'll be able to use this soon?" Tom spoke at last, he was still stood in the same place, looking at the mended cabinet intensely.

"Yeah." Merlin said, sighing inwardly and sitting back down in his chair, exhausted.

"It will obey me?" Tom pressed, Merlin sensed the same anxiety in his voice as there had been before the letter arrived. Tom had slipped in a question about it almost everyday for two weeks.

"Everyone's magic is unique," Merlin replied, relaxing now he realised Toms mind no longer cared about their previous conversation now his own magic was involved. "When you receive your wand, you will find yourself being matched by your magic. The wand best suiting to your power will choose you. Once you begin to properly study at Hogwarts you will find your magic is more willing to cooperate. You'll.. how to put this... get to know it more." Merlin found himself smiling as he thought of it. Tom, however seemed confused.

"You speak of magic as if it has a personality."

"I would say it does," Merlin replied, "In its own way. Magic is the force behind everything. It is the fabric of this world- it is in everyone. It's something a wizard must come to respect as his equal to reach his full potential."

"You mean to say that _muggles_ have magic?" Tom scoffed lightly, but raised his eyebrows when Merlin made no move to object this.

Tom dropped back down into his arm chair. "Magic to me does not feel like a companion. It is a power I respect, obviously, but I intend to harness and control it fully." He said thoughtfully, his ambitions clear.

"Then I wish you luck," Merlin replied, still smiling, "that respect will help you greatly. Though I feel like magic has been a companion to you even if you haven't realised it. When I was young I had only my magic for company. It was several years before I met anyone who did not view me with suspicion, bully me, or cast me out. I was the gangly, clumsy boy who could do things no one else understood." It pained him to think of Ealdor, of Will, but he had found a strange calm wash over him after Toms outburst. He felt like it was important to show Tom that he could open up about things, and it shouldn't be something to scare him. Despite the hipocrisy of this thought, Merlin continued. He hoped to better Toms understanding of himself.

"Trust me when I say this Tom, I know what it feels like to be hated. To be distrusted by everyone for just being me. I could have been you, Tom. But I eventually met someone who was able to pull me out. To teach me that what I had was a gift, and that there were still good people in the world. I've learnt to judge muggles and wizards equally, and I'm no weaker for it. You may have been at odds with the children at Wools, but that does not mean that Mr Peterson, who gave you a tip this morning, is a bad man."

Tom scrutinised Merlin as they sat in silence, the Warlocks words hanging in the air between them.

Eventually Tom began to speak again, changing the subject to question Merlin about Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and the world he was about to enter. He drank in all the information from Merlin with equal hunger to awe. Tom didn't even seem to notice, that for the whole rest of the evening, his mask stayed down. It was the longest time that Merlin had ever truly seen Tom's true character. It was strange to see his stony face change into various expressions, and whilst his questions still focused on hunger for power and his words were unsettlingly prejudiced, he was open with Merlin.

Progress was progress after all, and it seemed like Tom had struck a chord with Merlin. It had never occurred to Merlin the effect that empathy could have.

Under the worrying exterior, Tom was just a little boy who needed someone to understand him.

 _I'm not sure I'm completely happy with this chapter, but I pretty much wrote the whole thing in one sitting, with a break to watch the New Years fireworks yesterday evening. I only had the letter scene written and a terrible draft of another part before yesterday afternoon._

 _I've tried to go through and put in all the relevant apostrophes- my spell check likes to leave them out, but I appologise if there's still mistakes in there. The next chapter will hopefully be up in the next two months, as that seems to be the average times it's taking me to put them together._


	4. Chapter 4: The trip to Diagon Alley

_Hello all. Sorry for a longer than usual wait, but thank you for your follows, favourites and reviews. Hope this chapter does your kind words justice but I cant say I'm very happy with it._

~21st June, 1938...

"Are you ready?" Merlin said, smiling.

It was Tuesday at long last, and the inconspicuous brick wall that concealed Diagon Alley rose up before Tom and the old warlock with menace equal to its wonder. Tom had barely said a word all the way here, deep in thought even through breakfast- where he'd had little more than a mouthful. All week since the outburst he'd been subdued, but Merlin had decided that this was a good outcome, as Tom seemed uninterested in keeping up any tension between them and Merlin couldn't be more grateful for it. In hindsight, his actions had been far too risky to be sensible, but he still knew that his unanswered questions could not remain that way. Tom was cunning and clever and the old warlock would not be caught off guard should he be planning something.

Yet here he was, introducing the boy he wanted to keep in tight check, to the wizarding world. Merlin was trying his very best not to let this momentous trip get the better of his nerves, but he was still terrified. He'd been fretting all the previous night about whether Tom was ready for this, or whether it would have some sort of effect on him that Merlin had not foreseen or been prepared for. Despite his meticulous and structured work on Tom that he had been implementing these past few months, he still felt like he was walking Tom into the wizarding world with a blindfold on.

Merlin rolled his shoulders a little in an attempt to release the tension, before pulling his wand from his pocket and raising it up to the wall with all the confidence he could muster.

Tom took a deep breath and glanced up at Merlin, squeezing his hand, but said nothing. The warlock counted carefully up the bricks:

 _Three up and two across; three up and two across; three up and two across..._

He tapped the final brick in the sequence, stepping back as the wall slid aside with a deep rumble.

There were few sights quite like it, really. The bustling atmosphere: a sea of heads and hats and bags and _magic_.

There were so few places in the world nowadays where you could see this. Wizards, just being wizards. This was everyday life in all its perfect simplicity. Merlin always found himself drawn back to Camelot when he was here. Perhaps it was just the narrow and slightly skewed nature of the buildings that looked as though they had not changed since their foundations were first laid. Merlin had known the jumbled labyrinth of his old home like the back of his hand, he had never felt more at home than within Camelot and her comforting walls. The world had been smaller then.

Diagon Alley, much like Camelot, had that same feel. It was a hub of activity, but it still seemed like an entirely separate world, tucked behind an unassuming brick wall.

Tom let out a tiny gasp from beside him. He looked as if he could barely restrain himself from rushing off into the crowd before him, his eyes were wide and his lips were quietly parted in awe. He drank in everything that he could get his eyes on, scrutinising every single inch of the street as the brick wall clicked into place behind them.

"Take me everywhere." He said firmly, still not taking his hungry eyes away from the sight as he spoke to Merlin.

Merlin smiled uneasily, hoping that this sudden leap into the magical world wouldn't be too much for Tom. He reached out, sensing the boys magic bubbling away within him, rising to his surface. Only this time it wasn't in anger or frustration, but in warmth and welcome. Merlins smile turned genuine as he felt his own magic rising up to greet the magic around him. Everywhere was bursting with it, every brick, every person...

The Warlock took a deep breath, centring himself again before turning to Tom. "Now," he said, "have you got the letter?"

Tom nodded, as if this was a stupid question.

"Let's start at the top of the list."

The air above was mild with a little sunshine in places that spotlit the pair of them as they darted from shop to shop. Tom fought all the while to keep his jaw from dropping as all manner of floating and animated products and items swam past his vision. It was clear from the dozens of little faces in the passings crowds that school supply shopping was a common theme, so Merlin and Tom did their best to make light work of dodging large families and enormous bags of books and robes that threatened their path.

They first stopped for quills, ink and parchment. Tom charmed the shopkeeper with his impeccable manners, all the while asking constant questions to Merlin about everything they came into contact with. Merlin joked that his head would burst with all the information as they picked out cauldrons whilst he inquired about different types of elixirs. Merlin tried his best to answer his questions and keep up a cheery face, but in truth he was feeling a little nauseous with worries.

Tom was immersing himself in the wizarding world more and more with each step they took. He was witnessing the power he would, or could hold like never before. Merlin was certain that nothing today would go un-noted by the boy and he was petrified that Toms first taste of power would set him back completely in the small progress they had made.

The morning progressed rapidly from robes to books to a small stop for ice-cream at Floreans where Merlin had realised that there were only a few things left on the list. The big, glaringly obvious one being a wand. And Tom was itching to get it. Merlin resigned himself mid brain-freeze that Ollivanders would have to be the next stop.

The bell tinkled happily as Merlin and Tom slipped into the famed but rather inconspicuous shop of Ollivander. The man himself could be seen at his till, just finishing up serving a young customer and their mother, handing over a small black wand box with a warm smile.

Whilst they waited patiently to be served, Merlin took in his surroundings. The shop windows illuminated the dust particles that swirled about the air with modest beams of sunlight, and the place looked as though it was faintly sparkling. The aged wooden floorboards could be seen beneath the countless towering shelves, groaning quietly under the weight of thousands of tiny, oblong boxes. They were stacked in such a way that it seemed at any moment they would all come toppling off of the shelves onto the white-haired, curious man who had made them. It was quite a sight.

As soon as the previous customers had filed out, Ollivanders gaze fell immediately on Tom with a very thoughtful expression. Tom seemed uncomfortable under this sudden penetrating gaze, but Merlin reassured him with a little nudge forward. As they approached the counter Merlin smiled, Ollivander hadn't changed at all. He still had that same instinct and slightly odd demeanour that was both charming and mystical. Even Merlin didn't quite understand how he was able to pick up a wand and know every inch of its make and history- for an ordinary wizard he certainly had some unique gifts.

Merlin had always had a lot of respect for the Ollivanders, they had dedicated their work and lives to bringing joy and opportunity to others. There weren't enough people who used their talents for such pure good, but maybe it was possible Tom could find a way to do the same.

Merlin snapped back to attention when he realised that the curious old man had darted behind one of the many shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, piled high with countless boxes. The room seemed to be practically vibrating with magical possibility as they listened to him rifle about behind the walls of wands. Without having even spoken to Tom, Ollivander was straight to work.

Merlin placed a comforting hand on Toms shoulder from behind, having noticed the boy was trembling just a little. He could imagine the scale of this moment for Tom, and Merlin felt the pressure build up in his own conscience as Ollivander reappeared with the first box.

"Try this." He said simply, placing the box on the counter and carefully removing a thin, hazel coloured wand with a darker engraving on the handle.

Tom took a long breath and reached forward, grasping the wand firmly and Merlin felt his own breath hitch in his throat.

This was it.

Almost as soon as the wand was gripped in the boys fist, there was a harsh tinkle and a rustle of papers as a fierce wind blew up around the shop. Merlins magic sprung up under his fingertips as he watched the sickening expression on Toms Riddles face as he witnessed his powers interact with the wand. It reminded Merlin of his recent outburst last Thursday, which had been an altogether terrifying experience as Merlin had put his bond with Tom on the line. It seemed, however, that Tom had been uninterested in keeping up a tension like that between them and the rest of the week had passed relatively calmly.

Now, ambition and concentration burned so deeply in Toms eyes that Merlin thought they could have been on fire. A spark erupted from the tip of the wand, startling the pair of them just a little and almost as soon as Tom had taken the wand, Ollivander swiftly returned it back to the box.

"Not quite." He said, brow furrowed.

"It's alright," Merlin told Tom quietly, noticing his distress at having the wand taken away from him, "The right wand will choose the wizard."

"Exactly." Ollivander said, looking at Merlin as if he had only just noticed him. His eyes quickly lit up in recognition and Merlins stomach pulsed with nerves.

"Now, you were an interesting customer Mortimer," Ollivander said with an all too knowing smile that set Merlins teeth on edge. He swallowed as the wand-maker continued.

"Oh, yes. I remember very well, it seemed most of my wands were eager to have you, though none seemed to quite fit. Was it unicorn hair, thirteen inches that we went with in the end? An albeit very simple wand for such a-"

"I've never really seen myself as in need of a flashier one." Merlin cut in before Ollivander could continue. He had always been nervous around the Ollivanders. Through every member of the family he had known and every persona that he had brought a wand under.. he had always felt as though they saw right through him.

Apprehensively he noticed Tom watching him with a thoughtful expression and he braced himself if Ollivander were to continue and reveal any more, but he very quickly noticed that the wizened wizard had suddenly switched his attention back to Tom. He knitted his brows together a moment before letting out a small cry and scuttling off, leaving Merlin and the boy alone beside the counter again.

Despite the sudden actions of Ollivander, Tom's unfazed focus remained solely on Merlin. His expression was now unreadable, but Merlin found himself shifting nervously on his feet as they waited for Ollivander to return.

When the wand-maker finally did, he placed the next black box upon the counter with much more confidence. He gave Merlin a little glance as he did so, and Merlin found himself gulping as Ollivander lifted the lid. The unspoken word between them had told him that this was probably the one.

The wand in question was ghostly pale, reflecting Toms own complexion- he had stayed stubbornly pasty despite it being June- and it curved smoothly into a sharp, jaw-like handle. It was elegant but rather unusual, and Tom seemed to immediately snap to attention as soon as he saw it. His eyes trailed beadily over every inch of the polished wood in much the same way as he had observed everything that morning, only this time he seemed to know that this new phenomenon was his.

Ollivander frowned at his intense expression, giving one more glance up at Merlin with a raised eyebrow before nodding to Tom that he could take the wand from the box.

Tom riddles fingers made contact with the handle and Merlin felt the connection immediately. The wand hummed from the handle to the tip under Toms touch and despite all his worries, Merlin found himself smiling. It was such an incredible feeling, when magic connected with magic.

Kin with kin.

"That's the one." Merlin whispered, half to himself as Tom raised the wand in the air and a flurry of papers swirled and flittered around his frozen form. It was a long moment before Tom turned back to Merlin, wand still raised and hair ruffled out of place, but it warmed Merlins heart to see that he was smiling. And for the first time, Tom Riddle looked up at Merlin like a child. With wonder, and with joy.

A strange feeling appeared in Merlins chest and Merlin forgot all about his unease, reaching forward, embracing Tom in a hug that neither of them had really been expecting. A fierce paternal feeling had swept up inside of him and he felt himself overcome with emotion as he held the young boy he had adopted only a few short months ago. Tom didn't immediately pull away though, he clasped Merlin round the middle for a moment, saying in a low voice that was tinted with excitement:

"You're right. It feels amazing."

And then the moment was over, and Tom pulled away, the genuine smile sliding from his face and being replaced by his thoughtful and unreadable familiar expression. The only sign that he was fighting to keep his emotions under control was the tight hold with which he gripped the wand still.

 _"Finally"_ , the tension that released around the boy seemed to say.

With noticeable reluctance Tom allowed Ollivander to silently put the wand in its casing, exchanging payment with Merlin and running through a little booklet of wand-care 'dos and donts' in a protocol fashion. The wand-makers thoughts seemed on other things as he spoke. Tom listened to him, but was clearly itching to take his new wand away.

Merlin realised that his heart was pounding in his chest with adrenaline. There was no going back now. Tom had a wand. Merlin found himself forcing deep breaths in and out of his chest to rationalise with the worries that assaulted his system:

What if this was a terrible mistake?

 _I've given a powerful object to a dangerous boy- that I know is still hiding things from me!_

Merlin stilled himself, a little ashamed that his magic was flaring up within him as if he was under threat. He was an age-old Warlock. There was no threat to him from Tom, no matter how powerful the boy might be.

 _But there could be threat to others_ , he thought. And that's why he was doing this, mostly. But a part of him that he had never been able to ignore felt a great deal of affection for Tom. It was the part of Merlin that Kilgarrah had always seen as a weakness in him, but Merlin disagreed. The ability to see good, or the potential for it, in everyone was one of the only things that had kept Merlin going this long. It was also the reason for his biggest guilts- the death of Arthur had been caused by Merlins refusal to see evil in Mordred, and yet when he had been suspicious of the boy when he returned to Camelot as a knight.. he had ended up turning Mordred against him. It hurt his head and his heart to think of all the mistakes he had made, especially with Morgana. He felt such a magnitude of guilt for her death because that part of him had still, against it all, seen potential for good in the witch as he had stood, holding her gaze and her body with Excalibur though her gut...

With a shuddery breath his focus came slowly back to the dusty shop where he stood with Tom.

"Yew," Ollivander was saying, "thirteen and a half inches, phoenix feather core. I haven't many wands like this, so you take good care of it young man. It's a special one." He finished earnestly, placing a hand on Toms shoulder as he indicated the box now in the boys hand. Tom didn't flinch away from Ollivanders' touch, too engrossed in the object he was holding. Meticulously, he placed it in his ever filling satchel, that Merlin had enchanted with a feather-weight charm. He gave a small smile to Ollivander, thanking him in the same way he had to all the shopkeepers so far, only this time Merlin could tell he wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying, both hands clasping the strap of his bag tightly over his shoulder.

He turned to leave the shop, and Merlin began to follow after him, only to be stalled by Ollivander, who had appeared very suddenly beside him from his place at the till a moment ago.

"Phoenix feather is a rare and powerful core. Seems a very fitting wand, you know." He said quietly, expression unreadable as he studied Merlin closely. "For someone in _your_ care. I very much doubt this is the last I will hear of him."

Merlin just nodded, unsure what to say as he hastily slipped out of the shop to catch up with Tom, making sure to wipe the crease from his brow before he faced the boy again.

He doubted Ollivander was wrong.

But dark moods had never really been Merlins thing, and he still wanted to enjoy the rest of the day, regardless of what pressures rested on him. He and Arthur had always made the best of situations back in Camelot... But Merlin didn't want to think about that. The first step to lifting himself from his moods, was always to lift himself from the past.

Springing up beside Tom and clasping his hand he said, "Come on, I want to get you something."

"If you think I need any more chocolate than you're already feeding me Mr Thomas-" Tom began indignantly, but was cut off when swept comically off his feet by Merlins firm grip as they began back up the cobbled street of Diagon Alley. Tom muttered a little to himself, rolling his eyes at Merlin, but followed him nonetheless, having to walk quickly to keep up with Merlins long, gangly stride.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Merlin assured, a little mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Eyelops' Owl Emporium was relatively quiet compared to the bustling street outside. A cacophony of gentle hoots, taps and rattles formed the background of the shop like a sort of white noise. The walls were lined with sturdy cages, and owls of all shapes, sizes and breeds dozed or nattered happily behind the bars.

When they entered the shop, Toms eyes lit up with recognition.

"Are these postal owls?"

"Yep," Merlin said, "but they make great companions for many wizards."

Tom raised an eyebrow at Merlin.

"You want me to write to you then."

Merlin shrugged as they made their way further into the shop, "It would be nice." He said in exaggerated nonchalance. He'd be made up if Tom wrote to him every day whilst at Hogwarts, but Merlin resolved that the boy would probably be more focused on homework and studies than writing to the funny man he was staying with back home. Still, Merlin wanted Tom to have that option, he hoped that the young Riddle would want to let him know what he was up to at least once or twice... It would put his mind at ease.

"Ah, hello hello!" Came a small call from the back of the shop, belonging to the shopkeeper, who was busy pouring out bowls of owl-feed on the counter. "Can I help you with anything?"

"We're alright for now." Merlin replied, steering Tom round into the second isle. "See anyone you really like, let me know." He said cheerfully.

Tom continued to look carefully at all the owls, a small smile finally crossing his face when he came in front of a grey-painted, domed cage. Perched within stood the sleeping form of a medium size, rich brown speckled owl. The bird had magnificent tufts on its ears and a dappled white, black and brown stomach of sleek feathers. It had a defined and regal stance despite its diminished size when compared to the giant owls in the cages around, and when Toms shadow fell over the place where it perched, it opened one, golden yellow eye. Tom smiled at this.

"He's magnificent." The boy whispered, never taking his eyes off of that one, piercing eye.

"He certainly is." Merlin agreed, scanning the label on the cage that read:

 _Asio Otus_

 _Intermediate postal owl,_

 _Good sense of direction,_

 _Likes vole_

"Asio Otus" Merlin recalled the Latin name for the Long-eared Owl. He'd never owned one surprisingly, he thought to himself, since he did like the breed so much.

"This the one?"

"Yeah." Tom said, engrossed in stroking the birds head with a calming touch, two fingers stretched though the bars. The owl let out a long, soft hoot in reaction, opening both eyes to gaze fixedly on Tom.

"He seems to agree." Merlin chuckled, eliciting an eye roll from Tom.

"He's just an animal, Mr Thomas." The boy replied bluntly, and Merlin frowned.

"And a wand is just a stick?" He countered, "There's magic in everything, Tom, not just us people."

Tom didn't reply, staring thoughtfully at the owl, who stared evenly back.

It felt late when Merlin and Tom finally settled down at the kitchen counter after arriving back from Diagon Alley, even though it wasn't.

Featherlight charms or not, the bags had still been heavy and the train journey home a very interesting one, what with an owl on the tube.

Asio, as Tom had named him, was completely unfazed by the situation- which couldn't be said for the other restless and tutting passengers around him.

Exhausted, Merlin had stuck on some cheese-on-toast whilst Tom meticulously organised his purchases, taking his wand in and out of its box with such a revenant and intense expression that Merlin found himself grinding his teeth nervously at the sight.

Eventually, Tom came over and sat beside Merlin, cracking open the Camelot book he had given him and beginning to read whilst he crunched on his toast.

"Did you enjoy today?" Merlin asked after a time.

"Yes." Tom replied.

They were silent again.

"How about Asio?" Merlin tried again to spark a conversation.

"He's lovely." Tom assured and Merlin thought that he would once again fall into silence, but instead Tom seemed to take a moment to resolve himself before he continued. "I always thought snakes would make the best of pets."

Merlins eyes narrowed reflexively. Tom had said it so casually...but there was meaning there. Merlin looked the boy up and down- what was he telling him? Why now?

"Hm, I think there's an unnecessary hatred for snakes, but I imagine they'd be quite an involved animal to care for." Merlin replied, keeping the curiosity from his gaze.

"Not to mention they aren't allowed at Hogwarts..." Tom trailed off.

"Come on, out with it then." Merlin said after a pause.

"What?" Tom replied innocently.

"You know what. You want to ask me something you don't think I'm going to like." Merlin found himself smiling as Tom raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tell me about Salazar Slytherin."

 _Oh_.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose, carefully thinking about his answer. He knew that the founders were mentioned in the books he'd given Tom, but only briefly so he had hoped he wouldn't have to explain about them so soon. He didn't know why he was nervous talking about the founders and Slytherin to Tom. After all, he would rather that Tom heard about them from him, than at Hogwarts, where prejudiced views of each founder were rife. Maybe it was the boys heritage, maybe it was what the story of Salazar could inspire in him. Maybe one would be a consequence of the other. Either way, Merlin was scared of whatever the consequences would be.

Still, it was better he kept the open relationship he had with Tom, than the boy go away to Hogwarts and come back having learnt a skewed version of everything that Merlin had hidden from him.

He took a deep breath.

"Salazar Slytherin was one of the Hogwarts school founders, as I'm sure you know," He began, "they say he and the rest of the founders were the most skilled wizards of the age. And they certainly put their talents to good use. After the fall of Camelot, the magic of old declined and wizards became weakened and once again vulnerable as people without magic began to grow suspicious of them. For the most part, it wasn't the betrayal of wizardkind by their Muggle friends and family as so many wizards like to paint it. It was more a combined paranoia between everyone that forced the groups apart and hatred to surface again in the gap between them.

"The founders had a mission. Not to mend the deep rooted separation between wizards and muggles- creating the harmony that existed in Camelot was a distant dream- but to try to educated and bring together young wizards in support of each-other, in the hopes that they could bring about a more peaceful future." Merlin paused, checking Tom was following and preparing his words carefully to continue.

"They divided the school into houses. Hufflepuff took the hard working and honest students; Gryffindor took the courageous and strong hearted; Ravenclaw took the creative and intelligent and Slytherin took the resourceful and tactful. However Salazar, who had suffered greatly at the hands of the few cruel muggle groups at the time, was paranoid that if the school allowed muggleborns to attend, these children would be manipulated by their parents to betray the school and all its values. Destroy it from the inside out. Salazar was.. complicated. The other founders, however, would not tolerate any of his ideas and eventually this conflict between them meant Slytherin left the school. They say that he didn't leave without adding protections to the school, should his worst fears come true after he left, but ever since Slytherin has had a bad name.

"He was a great wizard, who's suffering was the reason for his prejudice, but he did not hate muggles. He was overly wary of them, yes. He didn't trust them, of course, but he did not think himself superior to them- as many alumnae of the other three houses like to say. Salazar was never a truly bad man, but he was troubled, and that's why so many write him off as evil, cruel or bigoted. No one ever heard him out." Merlin forced himself to finish with a shaky breath, realising his thoughts had strayed far from the delicate, factual account he had planned to give Tom. The irony of his last words stung as he shuffled a little in his seat, peering at Tom. Salazar and Tom certainly had things in common, he just hoped he'd got his message across. And he hoped that when Tom, who was probably destined for Slytherin house, arrived at Hogwarts, he would not be lead astray by his peers claims of Salazar's glorious quest to vanquish muggleborns. Or worse, of the awful and wretched nature that Slytherin has embodied, and that Tom would be written off for darkness and left in the dust. Both drastic, but very real fears for the old Warlock as he bit his lip gently.

"You speak as if you knew them personally."

Merlins heart thumped at Tom's sudden remark.

"I wish I had. But the founders were around before even the turn of the last millennia. I would just say I have known people similar to Salazar. In that way, I guess I think I understand him." He replied a smoothly as he could muster. It made him horribly uncomfortable whenever Tom let out one of those awfully perceptive remarks. He hadn't known the founders very personally, but he had known them. After all, Hogwarts had been the talk of the emerging wizarding world in the tenth century. Tom seemed to be satisfied with his reply, though, and Merlin tutted himself for letting the boys gaze get to him so much. Around Tom, you had to keep up as much a facade as he did.

 _Calm, collected and in control._

Merlin internally snorted at the thought of Arthur seeing him trying to be those three things.

But he'd gotten better at it. Sure, he still wasn't great- and looking after Tom was testing his resolve every day. Merlin realised he was letting himself get too flustered, lately. He couldnt let Tom see him stressed or anxious, if he could help it, because despite how far the young Riddle had come, if he saw Merlin falter... Merlin imagined he would find a way to take advantage of it. Though were certainly fewer pointed comments now; fewer mutters and scoffs; less of that tone... Tom kept his tongue in check around him nowadays, knowing if he let a snide or bigoted comment out he would be doused in morals and equality from Merlin.

It suited him for now, Merlin thought as Tom thanked Merlin for the explanation and toast, before heading upstairs. However it didn't banish the thoughts that Merlin knew Tom was still planning something. Planning, researching, whatever it was Merlin didn't understand it and admittedly that scared him-

Merlin took a deep breath to calm his thoughts. Today he had dealt with Diagon Alley, and as stressful as it had been, if Merlin took one thing at a time he was sure he could keep it together. What with everything there was to plan for and worry about, it was no wonder Merlin felt swamped. Despite any improvements, Tom was always going to be a challenge. But Merlin vowed again as he had that day he returned to Wools, that he would see this through.

Tom reminded him of so many people. Of himself, who could easily have fallen into disrepair without the help of Gaius and his old friends. Of Salazar Slytherin, who was never given a chance or the support he needed. Of Morgana.

He owed this to them all.

But to do so he needed answers. And for that he needed Martha.

" _fetaþ mec sum bócblæc ond cínan_ " Merlin whispered, a quill, ink and sheet of crisp parchment materialising before him. Dipping the quill into the ink, he began to write.

 _Hello again! I dont think that this chapter reads as well as the previous ones, but i hope you enjoyed it all the same. There may not be an update for a few months since I have exams coming up, but just to let you know the next chapter should pick up the pace a bit more._

 _yours, Hedge._


	5. Chapter 5: The Cave

|| _This chapter was actually a lot of fun to write, despite the time it took. It's a long one so hopefully worth the wait. Thank you all for your patience and reviews. Apologies for long authors note at the end._ ||

The Cave

 _~1st August, 1938..._

 _Martha,_

 _It is with a heavy but determined heart that I take Tom Riddle from your care, and in parting, I ask only one more favour of you._

 _You have been at Wools for many years, I have seen your dedication to the children there with my own eyes. There are few who would give up so much for those so unfortunate and you have always strived to build them stable futures, and give them equal opportunities. I cannot thank and respect you enough._

 _Tom is no ordinary child, everyone knew this. My task is monstrous, but my hope is I can see Tom through to adulthood and mould a better man. I believe, though daunting, it is within my capabilities to save Tom, but he must be committed to it himself if I am to succeed. It is a slow and dangerous game._

 _I ask only that you stay alert. The world is becoming a dangerous place, and there are forces at play far larger than we can conceive. Time makes stops for no man, and we must all be prepared to face what the future will bring. I am old, Martha, but I must keep moving._

 _I am certain that this letter, and this meeting, will not be our last._

 _Until the next time,_

 _M. Thomas._

Martha eyed the note she had received those few short months ago. She smoothed it out against the dark wooden desk, yellowed in the dim lamplight of the study. It was early evening, dusk creeping shadows down the Orphanage hall, and another letter had just arrived.

 _Ms Martha Cole,_

 _10:30am 12th September_

 _70 Pennethorne Road,_

 _Peckham,_

 _London_

 _M. Thomas_

 _P.S. Bell doesn't work, just knock._

Martha let a small smile slide across her lips as she placed the two letters on top of each other, smoothing them out as she placed them carefully in a desk draw. Slipping a key into its lock she secured the letters, conscious of the unanswerable questions that could arise if they fell into any of the other staff's hands.

The often stern faced Orphanage head felt an unusual fluttering in her chest as she made her way from the study, following the babbling noise of activity coming from the common room. She couldn't help it. The letter had sparked up that old excitement she was beginning to know all too well. Mr Thomas intrigued her more than she could say, and whilst the mention of Tom Riddle made her skin crawl, she would be there.

 _~1st September, 1938..._

Stepping through a solid brick wall was always going to be a peculiar experience. In one side, out the other, with a momentary image of a swirly black static as you passed through. It felt like you were shrinking and growing all at once, a strange contortion that you couldn't quite place.

Or perhaps it was just Merlins senses going awol. That was far more likely.

After all, he had been on a strange plane of high alert since yesterday evening. He hadn't slept a wink and his eyes were dry and heavy. But aside from his physical state his magic was tingling under the surface of his body, so much so that he thought if one of the many wizards around them brushed past him, they would feel a vibration from it.

Tom, clutching Merlins hand on his right and his suitcase in his left, had certainly noticed how on edge Merlin had been this morning. However, now on the platform of the Hogwarts Express, Toms thoughts were captured elsewhere.

The gleaming red steam engine filled the bustling station with the hum of whirring engines and steady puffs of steam. Wizarding families of all shapes and sizes filled most of the platform, cages containing all manner of animals and trolleys piled high with trunks filled the remaining space.

As soon as Tom laid eyes on the platform and the train waiting patiently on the tracks he started forward, but Merlin gently held him back.

"Easy on, we've got plenty of time."

Tom grumbled slightly at this, but held fast, stopping to give Asio a stroke through the bars of his cage. The young Riddle had also been on edge today. As expected, he was desperate to get to use his magic, and his impatience only grew the closer he got to Hogwarts. Merlin held out hope that despite this, maybe, just a little, Tom was sad to say goodbye to him too.

Merlin knew he would see Tom again at Christmas, but he still felt like he was saying goodbye forever. He had no idea if the wizarding school would help or entirely hinder his progress with Tom, and it terrified him to let him go.

But it had to be done. He'd had this inner battle many times over: his heart desperate to cling onto Tom, but his head knowing that was not an option. Still, he didn't want to rush this moment.

Crouching down so he was a eye level to Tom, he turned the boy round to face him. "You will write, won't you?" He said, watching in amusement as Tom rolled his eyes at the Warlock's parental fussing.

"Yes." The boy replied in a bored tone.

"Here," Merlin said, digging into his duffel coat pocket and withdrawing a small drawstring pouch that jingled with wizard currency, "this should cover your lunch on the train and anything else you fancy." He gave the bag to Tom, who nodded his gratitude, eyes ever fixated on the train behind them. Every so often a floating trunk or a wizard in particularly luminescent robes would pass and catch his brief attention, but true to his nature, Tom had a single focus.

"I was terrified when I first went to Hogwarts." Merlin lied, but Tom pricked up in interest at Merlins mention of his past, "Going off to a big castle; hundreds of people you barely know; expectations heavy on your shoulders..." Merlin recounted what it felt like to arrive in Camelot all those years ago. If he hadn't had Gaius and Gwen to guide him through those first few weeks he wasn't sure what would have happened. Probably a lot more of the stocks.

True, he'd never been to Hogwarts, but he knew what arriving in a new place felt like.

Tom nodded at his words, "I'm desperate to learn as much as possible. I don't want to fall behind anyone." He seemed genuinely worried. Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder meaningfully as he reassured the young boy.

"I'm certain that when it comes to your lessons you won't have a problem. You're an incredibly sharp mind Tom, and you'll take to magic like a fish to water. I do have a challenge for you, though."

"You do?" Tom said, a sly smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

"I want you to make a friend."

Tom let out a sharp breath as soon as Merlin spoke, "I don't need any friends, Mr Thomas. I have been fine in the past without. I'm at Hogwarts solely to study."

Merlin smiled sadly, shaking his head a moment. He saw the tiniest flicker of confusion in Tom's eyes at his reaction, but the young boy was adamant not to let Merlin see it.

"You'll do more than just study at Hogwarts, Tom. It's a big old place, and it is inevitable you will come across situations where you need help. All a friend is, is someone you can trust to be there for you, and who you are prepared to be there for. It's not about favours, or deals, or power- it's about mutual respect and caring for another person. Your house-mates will be like your family." Merlins tone was earnest as he tried to convey to Tom how important he felt this was.

"I don't _have_ a family." Tom ground out under his breath, but Merlin heard the cutting words loud and clear.

" _Neither do I,_ " Merlin whispered in reply, "but that doesn't mean I am unable to form friendships. It doesn't make me incapable of trying."

When Tom didn't reply, Merlin pressed.

"I'm disappointed you're unwilling to listen to me. Believe it or not Tom, I only have your best interests at heart."

"Alright." Tom agreed at last, and Merlin stood up again, satisfied.

"You might even find you enjoy it!" He said, lighthearted mood bouncing back to him. "Come on, let's get your stuff onto the train."

As they picked up Tom's bags between them, Merlin thought about how important it was to him that Tom made friends at Hogwarts. He didn't want the boy to become isolated again, for fear he might get picked on, and grow to resent more people that he already did. He wanted Tom to form more connections with other children, but it was a rather tall ask considering Tom had never managed it before. Perhaps an older student would take Tom under their wing? Merlin liked the thought of that. Maybe it was because he felt that if Tom had a companion, there would be someone to take over and protect the boy when Merlin couldn't.

His last few minutes with Tom Riddle passed in a bit of a blur. He hadn't realised how hard it would be, nor how fast it would all be over. Before he knew it he was frantically waving to a retreating train. Parents and family members flocked around him, each trying to get a last smile and blow a final kiss to their children, whose heads stuck happily out of the carriage windows.

Tom, who had found somewhere to sit near the back of the train, peered calmly through the glass at Merlin's waving form that stuck out amongst the other families. He paused for a moment, before waving back, smiling. Not a sly smile; or a cruel smile; or an empty one. Instead it was pure and hopeful.

Merlin savoured that moment all the way home.

 _~12th September, 1938..._

Merlin straightened his faded blue shirt collar as he made his hastened way to the front door, wordlessly freezing the moving painting in the vestibule as he did so. The face of Martha appeared over the threshold moments later and the warlock lead her through to the kitchen of the house on Pennethorne road with a mutter of "I'll put the kettle on."

Martha herself took a seat on one of the stools at the worktop, taking in the house around her with a calm eye. She smiled at Merlin briefly, Merlin returning her gesture with a goofy grin as he forced himself to manually take out the mugs from the overhead cupboard. He was pleased to see her.

"You have a lovely home, Mr Thomas." Martha commented.

"It's quaint and simple. Has everything I need," Merlin paused, "Tom was surprised by it though."

To this comment Martha only smiled sadly, leaving a heavy silence that reminded the pair of who else now resided in the house. Nevertheless, it still felt strange without the boy. They'd had their fair share of tense evenings, and Tom was always going to be more inclined to his own company, but they had definitely bonded over the few months he'd moved in. Tom was less guarded around Merlin in private, and he had begun to often seek out the Warlocks company in the weeks leading up to the first of September. Generally, it was to ask about the magical world. To query something in one of his school books that he had cracked open as soon as he got them, or to ask more questions about the nature of his own magic. He'd been doing his control exercises, and Merlin was confident that there wouldn't be any accidental outbursts when he arrived at Hogwarts. All in all, he was very satisfied with their progress so far, given the circumstances. Tom could be snide, rude and cold, but he could also be thoughtful, dedicated and spirited. Merlin's unusual fondness for him hadn't ceased to grow.

"What did you wish to speak to me for? Your letter had very few details." Martha cut to the point of their meeting, pulling Merlin from his musings.

"Ah, yes." Merlin said, stalling to collect himself together, "It's about Tom."

"I would never have guessed." Martha said, sarcasm laced in her tone, a grim sense of humour evident.

Merlin sighed in response, taking a seat and beginning to explain.

"He's settled in well so far. We sat down and talked things over the day he moved in- about his heritage, his future, etcetera. I guess it was then my seeds of doubt were sown about a few things. Between the lines of what he told me there were facts that didn't add up, and I need answers. I think he knows more than he is telling me. I tried confronting him about it once... though he didn't react too well." Merlin picked his words carefully, skimming over the magical parts of the story, watching Martha's small frown deepen as he spoke.

"I've told you everything I know about the boy, so I'm not sure how I can help you, but I'll do my best. I understand the root of your concern." Martha said earnestly, expression darkening as she continued, "After all, he's not a boy you can risk being fooled by."

Merlin swallowed, understanding all too well. "I've got one possible lead on this, and whilst Tom is at school I-"

"Tom is _at school_?" Martha cut in, brow crinkling in a little disbelief.

"It's a... boarding school of sorts. My hope is it will be more suited to him than the other public schools here in London." Merlin tried to explain, wincing a little as he struggled to articulate himself.

To his relief, Martha just nodded for him to continue. Though she didn't press him about it, Merlin knew that his vagueness was not going unnoticed.

"I wanted to seize the opportunity to investigate. This may seem a strange question to ask you, but I need to know where it was you took the children to the beach last summer." Merlin said.

Martha opened and then promptly closed her mouth. It took a moment for her to find the words to speak and Merlin began to fret that he had asked too much without explanation.

"It's certainly a strange question, Mr Thomas. I only wonder among many things, why you couldn't have asked me this in your letter?" Martha finally spoke.

Merlin smiled, "I know I've been a little vague with you, but I wanted to speak in person. After all, how else are you going to get properly caught up?"

To this Martha chuckled lightly, "I am certainly curious as to what you've been getting up to. Perhaps we can discuss it on the journey."

Merlin frowned. He had been planning to go this one alone. He wanted to keep Martha updated, of course, but he didn't want to drag her into anything that could be dangerous. And while Martha might suspect he was more than he seemed, Merlin also didn't really want to go this trip without the use of magic, as he would have to with her tagging along.

By the length of his pause, Martha seemed to catch on to his train of thought.

"I'm coming." She said. "And there isn't anything you can do about it."

"I- I never said I was going anywhere." Merlin replied.

"You didn't need to."

Merlin exchanged a glance with the Orphanage head. Of course, she would guess what he wanted to find on that beach. Regardless if Martha wanted to join him, he wouldn't have it. He couldn't risk it. He could understand why Martha might think a simple cave wasn't cause for so much danger, but in truth Merlin was worried what he might find there. The reason for Tom's behaviour, the truth about the boy...the possibility of finding it was not a light one.

"I can't pull you in to this, Martha." He said earnestly. "If you just give me the location, I can fill you in on what Tom's been up to, I-"

"I understand." Martha cut Merlin off, taking a pen and notepad from her bag and tearing out a page. She handed it to Merlin, an address written in a slanted scrawl. Merlin nodded his thanks awkwardly taking the piece of paper.

"You're right though," she said after stowing the pen and pad back in her bag, "You've got a lot of filling in to do.

Over the best part of the morning, Merlin told Martha about his progress with Tom. He told her about the paper round Tom had; his interest in reading; their trips out to the market on weekends and how pleased Tom had been to get a place at his school. Merlin told Martha that it was an obscure institution for the gifted and talented in the North, and he stressed how good it would be for Tom to socialise with like-minds.

He also recounted to Martha his challenges. Saying goodbye to Tom a fortnight previously had been surprisingly difficult, and dealing with Tom's naturally reclusive nature was an obstacle. Not to mention his firmly set opinions and often cold reaction to meeting new people.

"He's very calm with me," Merlin finished, "but he doesn't care for anyone else but himself it seems."

"That's a step in the right direction." Martha countered, "you're the first person Tom's ever had such a connection with. He was always so tense at Wools. You felt as if he might lash out at any moment."

Merlin nodded as she spoke, "Yes, we've been working on that." He said, silently referencing the simple exercises he'd given Tom.

As the morning came to a close and Martha prepared to return to Wools, she pointed to the bit of paper she'd given the Merlin.

"Good luck," she said, "when do you plan to visit the cave?"

"I shall probably go today, actually." Merlin replied as they made their way toward the front door. "Some things just need to be faced right away."

"I couldn't agree more." Martha smiled, heading out over the threshold to the mild midday street outside. "Until next time, Mr Thomas."

"Always a pleasure." Merlin replied, waving the Orphanage lady goodbye, holding the address note firmly in his hand. He waited until she reached the corner of the street before shutting the door and sucking in a deep breath. Grabbing his satchel and coat, he prepared to leave soon after her.

Minutes later, Merlin stood out on the street beside his house, examining the now crumpled note he'd been given.

 _Tintagel Castle,_

 _Castle Rd,_

 _Tintagel_

 _Cornwall_

Merlin found himself chuckling. Tintagel, of course. Famously named as the birthplace of King Arthur in the many fantastical stories that had sprung up long after the fall of Camelot from memory. Beginning to make his way down the street, he pondered the irony of being lead to such a place. He did his best to steer clear of places tied with Camelot, because he never liked to read those ridiculous tales. Just this once, however, he was going to need to make an exception.

Lost in thought, he ducked into a familiar alleyway around the corner from Pennethorne Road and pictured the rolling Cornish coastline in his mind. He felt his magic rise up from within him and a swirling wind began to kick about his heels. He checked once again the alleyway was still empty, before he spoke:

 _"Byre, bringaþ mec tó Tintagel"_

Just as Merlin felt himself drawn away from the London pavement, he felt a strong grip on his wrist. There was barely time for alarm to sink in before everything went blank.

Gradually, a sense of surroundings returned. A sky of patchy clouds. Dappled sunlight moving slowly across rolling countryside. A Southerly breeze coming off the distant sea. There, on the headland, Tintagel.

Merlin took in a couple long breaths as he took in the mighty view of the English coastline. He observed what looked to be excavation works happening near the cliff side where the remains of Tintagel castle must be, and a small footpath winding its way down toward the pebble beach at the base of the cliffs. Sea pinks, just like those in his painting at home, were scattered about the long surrounding grass with cornflower and tiny violets. A low hum signalled a bumble bee making its leisurely way from flower to flower, aimlessly fighting the incoming breeze.

It truly was beautiful.

"I did wonder how you planned to visit Cornwall in a day."

Merlin nearly dropped his satchel in shock, a rush of panic washing over him as he recalled the hand he'd felt grab on to him just moments ago back in London.

He whirled round, running one hand through his unruly hair in disbelief and reaching with the other to help up a rather dishevelled but spirited looking Martha Coles from where she had landed in the grass beside him.

"W-what are you doing here?" He exclaimed, though it came out as harsh whisper more than anything else.

"This is a two person job. I simply planned to follow you." Martha replied, glancing around herself as if to check her surroundings were real, "You're right though, what are we doing here?"

Merlin opened his mouth to try and articulate a response but found his throat dry.

"I-"

"Explain to me how a moment ago we were in London, and now we are in Cornwall!" Martha said, pacing up and down. Then, when Merlin still found himself unable to answer, Martha started to laugh.

She looked incredulously at Merlin and over the sound of his pounding heart against his chest, he too heard himself begin to chuckle. It was an insane moment that the pair of them shared, neither quite believing what had just happened.

Martha stopped laughing rather abruptly, straightening up in a small attempt to regain some of her usual composure. Merlin bit his lip.

"We really are in Cornwall, Mortimer, aren't we?"

"Yes," Merlin said, "I- I'm not sure I know how to explain-" he trailed off, unable to finish.

Martha furrowed her brow, turning toward the expansive sea view before them. It was an agonising moment before she spoke, Merlin too nervous to even move. His mind frantically whirred for possible cover-ups, but he knew he had no options.

"If you tried to explain," Martha sighed, "I'm really not sure I'd ever understand."

Merlin swallowed.

"The fact of the matter is," she continued, as if trying to console herself as much as she was Merlin, "I should have expected something like this from you, Mr Thomas." Martha's face flickered between a smile and a frown, struggling to decide how to express her surprise at the situation.

Merlin cursed himself for allowing this to happen. Here he was, trying to solve the mystery of a boy who could be the next dark wizard; on a cliff-side in Cornwall; having just revealed his magic to someone. It was an absurd situation and his thoughts reeled as he watched Martha's conflicted expression. Of all the things he'd asked of her, dealing with this would surely be too much. A single idea emerged in his head.

 _Will I have to?_

 _No, I would never._

He would not interfere with her memories. It was invasive, and he detested the very idea.

"Martha I- I know this is a lot. But you're right, I'm not like other people. And perhaps this is a two person job." Merlin stepped forward, offering out a hand.

Martha looked up at Merlin, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Over the years I've always found things I can't explain. Things I can't even comprehend. I live today on blind faith in fate and destiny, it doesn't get more absurd." Merlin said, a sad smile on his face at the thought. "Please, I'm just asking you to trust me."

She took his hand.

"I've always taught the children not to believe in such silly things as magic." Martha muttered almost to herself. She looked up at Merlin, gauging him with narrowed eyes as if they had just met.

"That's what it is, isn't it?"

Merlin nodded almost sheepishly, worry flooding his system as Martha scrutinised him.

The thought that Martha might view him differently weighed heavily on Merlins conscience. He'd seen it before; former friends looking on him with fear, or with expectations he could never fulfil. Yes, he had magic, but that didn't make him any less gangly, awkward and clumsy. That didn't make him invincible.

"But you're very much believable." Martha said, "I'd like to think I've made sense of you now, but in fact I think I'm further from that than I've ever been."

Merlin gulped. "Does- does that worry you?"

"I imagine it should." Martha paused, staring out to sea blankly for a moment. "But no, it doesn't."

The pair of them proceeded to make their way down toward the castle ruins on the headland in silence, Martha leading Merlin to a small well trodden path that wove its way down to the lowest part of the rocky cliff edge where you could access the cove beside the castle.

Merlin found himself glancing constantly over at the orphanage woman to check he wasn't mistaken. She looked calm, almost. Whereas Merlin's chest still thudded with the adrenaline that had flooded his body and now refused to leave. He had to pinch himself back into focus when he realised that they had reached the shore without him barely noticing.

"We told the children not to go in the cave as it could be unstable." Martha spoke at last, matter-of-factly.

Merlin nodded, "I can't imagine what drew Tom in there." He replied with sarcasm.

They paced along the sand a moment, the mossy and lichen covered entrance to the cavern opening up in the rock at the edge of the cove. Sea water lapped gently into a channel at its mouth, but a damp raised ledge looked as though it allowed entrance alongside. Merlin felt it almost immediately. The pull of familiar magic.

The old religion resided here.

He took a sharp breath as it hit him, stalling. Martha stopped, casting a glance back at him with minor alarm.

"What is it?"

Merlin didn't speak, instead, he took Martha's hand and placed it against the rock beside the mouth of the cave.

" _Feel_." He said, and Martha closed her eyes in concentration a moment.

"It's vibrating. Only a little, I wouldn't have noticed without you prompting me." She replied, surprised. But neither she nor Merlin could fight a smile forming at the gentle pulsing of the old religion imbued within the rock. In certain places, it was still strong enough to be felt, and it restored Merlins hope in his life force.

"Do you think it drew Tom in, then?"

"Definitely." Merlin replied. Any modern wizard who came here would be able to feel it, especially those with a strong core like Tom. They would hardly be able to resist.

They made their way cautiously into the cave, Merlin sent a silent glance to Martha as they began edging along the ridge, as if to say: _"are you sure?"_ , but Martha just gripped the hem of her skirt as the water lapped at her heels, determined.

Daylight faded quickly from the slick, black rock, and the tiniest movement echoed down the cavern. The inky black water reflected in ripples on the cave roof, before the pair were plunged into darkness.

Merlin took a deep breath, cautiously allowing a small orb of golden light to appear gradually in his raised palm. He didn't want to startle Martha, who followed closely behind him. He heard her give a tiny gasp, but she said nothing. The small light aided their passage but shed no warmth, and Merlin felt the air grow eerily chilly. It was a few more minutes of baited breaths and shuffling along beside the water before anyone spoke again.

"You alright?" Merlin breathed.

"I work with children, Mortimer," came the reply, "I can rationalise and control my own fear better than anyone."

In the gloomy glow, they exchanged a small smile, each offering the other the slightest reassurance, though they had no idea what they might find in this flooded stomach of the earth.

The sound of rushing water could now be heard faintly up ahead, and the ridge widened so that Merlin and Martha could now walk alongside each other. The cave opened up into a wide cavern. Merlin let his light grow brighter, watching as it moved from his hand and into the centre of the space, illuminating its walls that had probably never seen the light of day. They stood now on the rocky shore of a lake. The water from the sea flowed in from the tunnel and joined the murky depths of the large pool before them. In the centre, an island of sorts rose up from the depths, deep black slabs of slate and granite forming a pedestal of sorts.

It was them Merlin realised that his magic was not the only source of light in the cavern. There, upon the rocky pedestal, sat a glowing crystal.

Merlins light overhead flickered in his shock.

 _"Oh no."_

Martha reached for Merlins wrist, glancing nervously up at his light and pulling Merlin round to face her.

"What is it?"

"It's something that shouldn't be here." Merlin said in a low voice a small hint of frustration entering his mind. How had he let this happen? Granted, there were thousands of magical objects from the time of the old religion, there was no way he could keep track of them all... but this? Surely after all the pain the crystal had caused he would have thought to be more careful?

"Mortimer..." Martha said, brow furrowing at Merlins silence.

"It's the crystal of Nehatid." Merlin answered at last. "It was given to the Druids to look after but I don't understand how it could have got here."

"Well, perhaps the Druids took it here? It must be important, and this place seems quite protected." She replied logically, though when Merlin glanced her way he saw she seemed entirely lost. Her eyes kept flicking between the crystal and Merlins light with barely suppressed bewilderment, and Merlin felt a sharp pang of guilt. This wasn't something she deserved to have to come to terms with. And it was his fault for involving her.

Merlin nodded in reply, her suggestion was reasonable. Though not ideal, he could understand why the Druids might have placed the crystal here. Protective wards could have been erected to deter anyone who came upon the cave, and these would have worn away over time once the Druid civilisations, and the old religion receded into legend...

"I should have been more careful." Merlin said, shaking his head.

"There's no use looking back on it now." Martha said firmly. "What do we do?"

"The crystal is dangerous. It allows those with magic to see possible futures and pasts." Merlin said, beginning to pace. "It can't remain here, but-" Merlin stopped short.

A thought hit him. Of course, the reason Tom had known about the wizarding world was because he must have seen a vision in the crystals. But it didn't make sense...

"How was Tom able to use the crystal?" Merlin voiced aloud. Modern wizard's magic was not strong enough, only those with the old religion could see into the crystals. If Tom had been able to do so, then Merlin had made a serious miss-judgement about Tom's power. And he was sure he hadn't.

"So Tom is like you, isn't he." Martha said quietly, evidently trying to process what she was hearing.

"In a way, yes." Merlin mused.

"And you think he saw a vision in the crystal."

"Yes. I just don't understand how."

"He has... magic, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but the crystal of Nehatid is of old magic. Only those with knowledge of that could ever hope to wield it." Merlin replied, sitting down against the cold hard stone and staring across the water at the crystal. He could feel it's pulsing magic, drawing him in. Tempting him to look. He imagined Tom doing the same, causing despair to flood through him.

"Old magic? I'm sorry, this is all foreign to me." Martha said, coming over and sitting down beside him, her skirt dripping with accumulated water.

"The eternal force of the earth itself. What you feel in the rock beneath your feet exists in everything. It is the one constant." Merlin explained, trying to put into words the sheer awe he still felt when he thought of the old religion. How he could love and yet despise a single thing so much had always baffled him.

"It means a lot to you." Martha said, with a strange understanding.

"I guess it does."

The two of them sat there a moment, numb against the freezing ground watching the crystal and lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Merlin spoke.

"This is a lot for you, isn't it."

Martha hummed in response. "I don't think I'm really processing it quite yet. When it all hits me, I imagine it's going to turn my world upside down."

"I'm sorry." Merlin whispered hoarsely.

Martha didn't answer, instead, she pointed at the crystal.

"You say the crystal is of the old magic. An all powerful force. So, perhaps it can make exceptions for who sees into it. Perhaps it makes the rules."

"You mean, Tom was able to see because the crystal wanted him to?" Merlin breathed. It was true, but Merlin couldn't understand why the old religion would allow a child filled with such darkness to channel its power. The danger it may have caused by releasing knowledge of possible futures upon the Riddle boy... It made no sense. If it was true, then Merlin found himself feeling a little betrayed. That the old religion would be the cause of such tension between him and Tom- it could have ended all chance of Merlin being able to reform him... and it would have been the old religion's fault.

"We need to get it out of here." Merlin said grimly, standing up.

Squinting, Merlin spied a boat across the water. Concentrating, he sent out a ripple of magic, bringing the boat gliding across the inky lake toward them. He clambered in once it reached them, leaving Martha as the boat would only hold one, and with another gentle push of his magic he sent the boat across to the small island. He kept his eyes firmly away from the crystal as he made his way toward it. The temptation to peer into it was as strong as he had felt it for a millennia, and it told him that the old religion wanted him to look. It had something to show him.

Merlin swallowed, gripping the rock in which the crystal was firmly imbedded into with both hands as he realised that his suspicions were correct. That he was going to need to use the crystal to find the answers he sought. Filled with dread, he allowed his magic to melt the rock encasing the crystal of Nehatid, letting it slide effortlessly out. He was bitterly reminded of the spell he had used to draw Excalibur from its stone as he brought his glowing cargo back across the lake.

After wordlessly placing the crystal into his discarded satchel, he turned to Martha.

"I don't know about you, but I'd like to get out of here."

Martha released a tense breath that it appeared she'd been holding a while. "Yes, let's." She tried to display a smile of relief, but Merlin still saw the hint of fear in her eyes.

"I will explain as much as I can Martha, I promise. I know this all seems scary and overwhelming but I _will_ keep you safe." Merlin tried his best to reassure her, and what he said was a promise. Granted, there were certain things he couldn't tell Martha, but he would do whatever he could to help her. He swore to himself, as they began their careful passage from the cave with the crystal in tow, that he would protect her from any danger he might have let her in to by revealing his secret. It was the very least he could do.

It wasn't long before they were back up on the headland again, looking out to the monotonous rolling of the sea; taking in the smell of salt and flowers on the breeze as if nothing had happened. It was Merlin who broke their silence:

"Thank you for coming today. I fear this journey would have been much harder for me without your rationality."

He meant every word. The old Warlock often found that his thoughts ran away with him when he was faced with ties to his past. Martha kept him in the present.

"It's no problem, really." Martha replied automatically, waving it off. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Why did you decide to follow me? I thought you wanted nothing to do with Tom." Merlin finally asked what had been brooding in the back of his mind whilst they were walking.

"Well we both know that changed." Martha replied, a small smile on her lips as she sighed, "You said something to me, at the Orphanage, that first evening. You implied I had abandoned Tom. And I definitely did. I realise it was the wrong thing to do- you may be the only one who seems to be able to connect with Tom, but I should have at least tried. I want to make up for that now."

"You said if I ever needed anything..." Merlin murmured.

"And I meant it."

"It's going to be dangerous."

"Yes, I suppose it will." The Orphange head replied matter-of-factly.

The two of them paused for a moment, before Merlin composed himself.

"We should head back to London. I can take you back to Wools and we can try and work through any questions you have."

Martha frowned, "That would be appreciated, but what are we going to do about the crystal?"

"I'm thankful for your company today, really. And I never meant for you to have to see so much... But the crystal is something I have to face on my own." Merlin replied earnestly. Even now he felt the dead weight of the object in his satchel, it's gentle pulsing seeming more like a thundering heartbeat. Or perhaps that was his own? Deep within him, no matter how much it scared him, he felt that in his own company was the only way he could face what they crystal wanted to show him.

Reluctantly, Martha appeared to understand. It dawned on Merlin just how much she had supported him through the whole process of adopting Tom so far. She was the strongest friend he had had in centuries and that filled him with as much hope as it did terror.

"I'm breaking a lot of rules here, so you promise not to tell-"

"I promise." Martha reassured Merlin immediately, grasping the hand he offered her as he quietly began to chant the spell to take them back to Wools.

In a gust of swirling wind, the pair were gone.

...

It was the early hours of the morning when Merlin returned to Pennethorne Road. He and Martha had talked long into the night, and whilst Merlin couldn't tell her everything, he hoped he had explained enough to help her worm through her revelation. He had talked little of himself, or of old magic due to it being a relative secret to even the modern wizarding world, but he could tell Martha had been curious about it nonetheless.

Eventually he had torn himself from his chair in the Orphange office, Martha assuring him that she would be okay. She had asked, tentatively, if there was any way they could prevent her giving away the information. The thought that someone might try to force information out of Martha made Merlin sting with guilt. He had complied with a simple incantation that prevented them both from disclosing anything about their day besides to each other, before making his leave.

"I always suspected something about you, Mortimer." Martha had said on the threshold, "You always seemed older, with more than met the eye."

"What makes me look so old?" Merlin had replied.

"It's your eyes that betray you."

And with that, they had parted ways.

Now, Merlins hands threatened to drop the leather bag holding the crystal, they were shaking violently as he lowered himself into his armchair. He had hardly noticed the living room lights still off, or the fact that he still donned his cap, coat and satchel.

He just needed to sit down.

Merlin stilled his rattling breaths for a moment to slip his satchel off his shoulder and put it on the floor beside him. He lit a candle with one flick of his wrist and with another he drew the curtains, snuffing out the twilight that had been filtering into the dark room and leaving now only a single, dim-yellow glow.

Merlin found himself sinking into the chair, watching the flickering of the small candle for a long moment, finding no comfort in the flame.

He breathed deeply, the crystal like a dead weight on his lap.

The last time he had looked into the crystal of Nehatid he had seen a haunting vision of Kilgharrah attacking Camelot, and had later lived the experience. The last time he had looked into this crystal had been before Arthur became king. Before Morgana had truly been lost. Before Mordred had grown up.

And the last time he had looked into a crystal like this one, Arthur had died.

There were a lot of things he had not expected when adopting Tom Riddle, but by far the greatest of these things was the amount Merlin found himself having to face his past. Living alone for so long, he had forgotten what memories being around others could stir. The old Warlock was beginning to witness just how much emotional weight he was carrying around with him, and perhaps- despite his efforts- just how much that showed.

He recalled his earlier conversation with Martha:

 _"What makes me look so old?"_

 _"It's your eyes that betray you."_

Merlin took a shuddery breath. He was old, yes. Far, far too old.

And it saddened him more than he could say, for the years made him distant. The past and the present and the future lingered ever around him and he could never quite connect with any of them.

But he had to face this now.

Merlin took another deep, shuddering breath. He silently slipped the crystal from its pouch, and opened his eyes at last to the images it so desperately wanted to show him...

T _he first vision showed the cove at Tintagel. A slightly frazzled, but nonetheless composed Martha was leading a group of excited children down onto the sand, Merlin recognised many of them from his recent visit to the Orphanage. Tom came into view, a few metres behind the gaggle of other children, his face stony and unforgiving, and he walked over the sand with a sense of boredom._

 _Casting his gaze around, Tom spotted the cave. Immediately his expression softened a little, a spark of curiosity lighting up his features. His eyes bore hungrily into the darkened entrance as Martha instructed the children that it was out of bounds._

 _The scene changed, now revealing the shadowy form of Tom as he inched his way along the narrowest part of the ledge, deep within the cave. The echoing sounds of his movements and the water below him seemed magnified. His feet followed the same path to the main cavern as Merlin and Martha had taken earlier that day, only there was no light to guide him. He moved totally in shadow, eyeing the faint glow of the crystal coming from ahead. When at last Tom spotted it across the lake his lips parted for a small moment in awe before a cold smile broke out across his face._

 _Without hesitation the young Riddle clambered into the boat which hovered nearby and used his arms to paddle it over to the raised ledge where the crystal of Nehatid sat almost menacingly, beckoning him forward._

 _For a moment Tom was completely enthralled by the object before him, but he soon stepped forward and grasped at its base, a feeble attempt to pull the crystal from its eternal resting place. At his touch, the crystal began to glow brighter, an image forming within. Curiously, Tom peered deep into it, lost in a trance._

 _The scene changed once more, now showing the grotty interior of an old fashioned living room. On the sofa sat a harsh looking man in wizard's robes. Other than the tell-tale way he held himself, the man betrayed no other signs of nobility besides a small golden ring upon his finger. It was familiar._

 _The man rose menacingly from the chair, addressing another figure that was barely noticeable in the corner of the room. A slight young woman, barely more than a girl, who wrung her hands nervously as the man spoke to her._

 _"He's a good for nothing scumbag. Oh yes, I know all about that interest you've been 'aving in that Riddle fellow."_

 _The woman, who must be Merope Gaunt, cast her eyes to the floor, making her way as quickly as she could across the grotty room toward the door. The man that was probably Marvolo Gaunt shouted wildly after her:_

 _"You are a Gaunt! Descendants from the great wizards! Hangin' about with that Muggle scum will only get you left in the dust missy!"_

 _Merope took off out of the house, the sound of the man's shouting growing dimmer. She made her way through an over-grown front garden, her skirt tugging on creeping brambles that carpeted the concealed path. She reached the front gate of the derelict looking house, and clung onto the bars as she looked longingly out on the world outside._

 _A dashing young man with features similar to Tom's stood beside a horse-drawn carriage down the lane. He seemed totally oblivious to Merope's transfixed gaze, and he laughed loudly with someone inside the carriage before clambering in and disappearing quickly from view. Still, Merope stood there hoping._

 _The vision changed again, this time revealing a much younger looking Martha Cole, holding the hand of an exhausted Merope. Her eyes held no more of their previous hope, instead they seemed dead to her surroundings. She slackened despairingly against the table, a hoarse whisper of "Tom" escaping her quivering lips before she breathed out once, and was silent._

 _As Martha bent over sadly to close the frail young woman's eyes, the scene faded. For a moment there was nothing, and then there came a distinct sound of a door being shut quietly. Footsteps down a hall._

 _The face of an old man appeared. He had a long white beard an hair, hollow cheekbones and a narrow face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his deep blue eyes sparkled with an internal light. As soon as the face appeared, it was gone._

 _The scenes began to change quickly now- flashes of frozen moments in time._

 _A round, kind faced man in green robes spoke to an older looking Tom Riddle._

 _"You are destined for great things, Tom" he said._

 _Then, a high-pitched, cold laugh. Merciless and unforgiving. It was accompanied by an image of a terrifying figure, barely human, with pitiless red eyes and deathly pale, grey skin. His nose was no more than two slits, much like that of a serpent._

 _An image of a vast army, marching steadily, their arms bearing a strange, pulsing mark._

 _Finally, there was an image of a golden sword, Excalibur. And an old man's peaceful voice:_

 _"You were loved."_

 _Abruptly the vision changed. A gasping Tom Riddle fell back onto the floor of the cave, staring incredulously at the crystal before him. Frantically, he tried again to pull it from where it was fastened into the rock, with no success. Multiple times, he tried to stare into it as intently as he had previously done, but the crystal now glowed dimly._

 _The young boy eventually stood back and scoffed, his arms folded in front of him as he surveyed the crystal. A smile grew across his features, and he laughed._

 _"Open up, you stupid rock. Show me more." He said, his demand echoing through the cavern, but he received no reply other than the steady dripping of water from the roof._

 _Determined, Tom clambered back into the boat and was gone from the cave._

 _The vision changed for the final time, still showing the interior of the cave. This time, Tom stood upon the island in the underground lake, towering over two children._

 _"Come on!" He barked, "Tell me if you can see anything in the bloody crystal, or I'll throw you in the water again."_

 _The two children cowered underneath the shadow he seemed to cast over them, despite his slight build. One was shivering, clothes and hair dripping with freezing water. They shook their heads and cried to him that they couldn't see anything- that it was just a crystal._

 _"Can we go Tom?"_

 _"Please, it's dark in here!"_

 _"_ Shut up! _" Tom cried, clenching his fists. There was a sudden change in the atmosphere, and a harsh wind whipped up around the three children. The air let out a low moan as it rushed through the cavern, and whilst it nearly barrelled the two smaller children over, Tom remained unaffected._

 _When the wind had died down, Tom remained silent for a few moments longer, before he let out a long breath and whispered almost to himself:_

 _"It was right. I am different. I am destined for higher things." He stood taller. Casting one final glance over his shoulder at the crystal, he grasped the two small children, hauling them up with a wry smile. "You know what I'll do if you tell anyone about this." He said menacingly._

 _The children nodded fearfully, and the vision faded for the last time._

Alone in his armchair on Pennethorne Road, Merlin shuddered. The crystal fell deftly from his hands but he barely noticed.

The candle on the table beside him flickered uncontrollably for a moment before snuffing out.

He'd wanted answers, and the turmoil he now felt was the price of getting them.

|| _Hello!_

 _Just wanted to talk about a couple interesting things I came across writing this chapter. I looked up the location used for the cave in the HP films, and while it's an impressive place, it's in the side of a giant cliff-face in Ireland and there's no beach nearby- it just didn't fit. So I went cave hunting._

 _I found this place called 'Merlin's Cave' in Cornwall. The connections to the legends of King Arthur were too strong for me not to choose it. It's an interesting place, and I spent quite a bit of time getting distracted by reading about it online. I'd definitely like to visit._

 _My general plan for this fic was never to follow the HP cannon entirely. Much of Tom's life is not known, and I want to make the story as interesting as possible. It will tie in to cannon, but it won't exclusively follow it._

 _Exams are all over at last, I'm hoping to get another couple chapters out before the end of the year but we will see how it goes._

 _Yours, Hedge_ ||


	6. Chapter 6: The First 'Proper Christmas'

_Apologies for sitting on this chapter so long. I had most of it written over a month ago but finishing it took longer than anticipated. Hopefully this time you're not seeing a strange load of code- sorry about that! I'm not sure what happened…_

The First 'Proper Christmas'

 _~17th December 1938..._

Merlin hadn't celebrated Christmas for many years. He'd had no reason to, really. He travelled too frequently and impulsively, and raised as a pagan the celebration had no religious weight to him.

That wasn't to say he didn't like the idea of Christmas- he had always loved gathering those he loved together. Feast days back in Camelot had warmed his soul; he loved the hustle and bustle and the pride he felt when he saw what a show Camelot could put on for its citizens and guests.

But those days were long past.

Now, there had been no friends or family to share a meal with for many years. And Christmas was always everywhere. Seeing everyone else getting together only seemed to amplify Merlin's own sense of loneliness, and though he felt it was a selfish perspective to have, Christmas was often suffocating for him. Everywhere he was bombarded with tinsel and turkeys and shops lined with cards to send to loved ones. He generally didn't go out much at this time of year.

But this time... where before he had shunned the idea, he now felt like a moth to a flame. Or a lit Christmas tree.

A few days ago he had popped to Diagon Alley, as well as a couple of muggle department stores, to buy a stack load of decorations. The lady at the till in Woolworths had to double take when he walked up to the counter, arms bursting.

After all, most people built up their stock of decor over a number of years, Merlin had started from absolute zero.

He was stood in the living room on Pennethorne road, the musty smell of pine filtering gently into the room. Little dark green leaves were strewn about the place, all the way down the hall to where he had dragged the momentous tree before him through the door a few moments ago.

Thinking about it, the tree wasn't actually all that great. A little dry and brittle in places, and a little short and stubby all over, but it fit perfectly into the corner of the room as if it had sat there since the house was built. Merlin eyed the box of decorations he had brought along with the tree, hoping the garish baubles and tinsel wouldn't clash too much with the rest of the room. He'd seen that people liked to put a star or an angel on the top, but he didn't think it mattered too much that there was nothing there. It was, after all, his first tree. They'd only arrived in England in the last century or so, but had caught on quickly and it now seemed everyone had one. It amused Merlin how some things could slip completely under his nose. The world was ever accelerating, and Merlin had to somehow keep up.

He didn't have much time to dwell this morning though, as he only had a few short hours before it was time to meet Tom at King's Cross. The boy had written him a handful of brief letters, leaving Merlin itching to know the details of his first term at Hogwarts.

He'd been sorted into Slytherin, as expected, and he'd told Merlin he and Asio had settled in well. The house had felt oddly empty without the boy, and despite Merlin having lived on his own for centuries, he missed company.

However, despite his excitement to spend Christmas with his adopted boy, the old Warlock could not stop thinking about his vision. Whilst the crystal of Nehatid had shed light on many of Merlin's questions, it had also opened up a whole new can of worms and shaken Merlin to his core. He still wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

The reasons for the ways Tom acted went far deeper than Merlin had anticipated. It was no wonder he saw himself in such a superior way to those around him when clearly it was this vision that drove Tom's twisted ambitions. He truly believed he had a destiny, and he chased the idea hungrily.

That was what Merlin truly could not relate to. He'd spent the majority of his life running from a destiny he'd always felt was thrust upon him. He often wondered if someone else could have done a better job of things. After all, he was a simple village boy at root, and Tom Riddle was descendant of nobility. But even Arthur, as a Prince, had often felt the crushing weight of a destiny.

The point was that Merlin didn't understand why Tom was clinging so tightly to his imaginings of grandeur. It didn't make sense to him, and that worried Merlin particularly, because if he couldn't understand, he couldn't work to help or change anything. He wanted Tom to realise that a life of simplicities could be a life of happiness.

The other thing, of course, that played on his mind was that he had seen himself in Tom's vision. Or rather, his other self. His older self. Martha had told him that his eyes always betrayed him, so had Tom recognised him? Or had the vision been too brief to study in detail?

It made Merlin's stomach churn to think of the other, terrible, face he had seen. The one that could barely be called human. The snake.

He reminded himself constantly what his mentors had told him: that a vision was only one possible future. That things were never entirely as they seemed. Visions had driven him mad in the past, and he knew this time he had to keep it together. He couldn't appear to be acting differently. So, despite how hard it might be, he had to put his thoughts of the vision to the back of his mind.

It was business as usual, he told himself. And he could start with trying to enjoy himself. The sparkly tinsel was just too much to resist.

 _~24th December 1938..._

Merlin had anticipated Tom wouldn't be up for relaying everything he'd done at Hogwarts to his guardian, but it nonetheless aggravated him that Tom had been home a whole week and Merlin still felt completely out of touch.

Every time he'd ask Tom a question more than: "So what are you studying in potions?" Tom would brush him off with comments of having too much homework, or just not being in the mood to talk.

Whilst Merlin was interested in how Tom was performing in lessons (which was very well by all accounts), he desperately wanted to know how Tom was _really_ getting on. He was worried Tom might be too engrossed in his studies to develop the social skills he needed, or worse he if he was getting bullied. Having been the predator at Wools, Merlin was worried Tom wouldn't know how to cope if he were to become the prey.

The old Warlock had made a mental note to request more detailed letters, on the threat that he would come to the school himself to get the gossip if Tom didn't write him it.

Merlin waved a hand, and the radio in the corner by the fireplace flickered to life, letting an unintelligible Christmas jingle fill the silent room. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and they might as well keep in the spirit of things.

Merlin slung his hat and scarf on a hook on the back of the door, watching as Tom paused beside him to do the same.

It was chilly out, with a light dusting of snow, but they'd gone for a walk about the neighbourhood to see all the lights. Couples had huddled together beside the big tree in the square, and children flocked to purchase cinnamon iced biscuits from a pop up stand, trying to catch tiny flakes of snow in their mouths as they waited. As they'd shivered on a bench, Tom had asked if the wizarding world had a big Christmas display. He'd animatedly told Merlin about the Hogwarts feast, frowning and stalling as soon as he realised he'd let such excitement seep into his voice.

Merlin had laughed, getting the message loud and clear.

"I know this isn't all that much, and maybe you've seen grander, but this is the first Christmas I've done in a while."

"It's ok Mr Thomas," Tom had replied, "just a bit cold and dark."

Merlin had hummed in response before answering

"It's a bit formal, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Calling me Mr Thomas,"

"Oh."

"Mo is fine."

"Hmm."

The response had been unconvincing, but it was worth a shot. Merlin had never liked formalities or titles much. However he had agreed it was too cold, and they'd headed home quickly after that.

Now, back at Pennethorne Road, Merlin looked wearily across at the dinner dishes still on the side. Deciding he'd deal with them in the morning, he picked up a small paper bag from beside the bannister and sunk with it into his arm chair.

He beckoned Tom, still a little rosy faced from the cold air, to join him by the tree, taking out his wand and pointing it at the lights so they illuminated the room. He noted the small flicker of jealously in Tom's expression whenever Merlin used his magic. Unable to use his own wand outside of Hogwarts, Merlin could imagine how Tom was itching to come of age.

"So how's it been so far?"

Tom perched himself on the foot-stall beside the fire, wearing a bored expression.

"I told you, it's been going fine. I'm not struggling-"

"Not Hogwarts," Merlin smiled, having a twinge of guilt as he realised quite how much he had been pestering Tom about school, "Christmas."

"A little surreal if I'm honest. Christmases at Wool's were always so... cold."

"I can understand that." Merlin replied earnestly.

"No, you can't." There was no real anger in the boy's tone, but perhaps the tiniest hint of sadness. As if deep down he wished Merlin could understand.

A long pause followed, where Tom stared intently into the fireplace, and Merlin found himself watching the little hanging elves flitter about the Christmas tree, peering curiously at the stagnant looking muggle decorations interspersed between the animated wizarding ones. Eventually, he spoke.

"I had plenty of people to spend Christmas with when I was a child. The whole village would get together around a hearth and exchange simple gifts. No one could afford anything extravagant, but everyone always looked forward to it regardless. It was when we were all supposed to feel the most 'together'." Merlin paused, looking down at his lap a moment, aware of Tom's gaze drawn up at him.

"That sounds nice." The boy's comment was entirely empty. Perhaps he felt his guardian was 'rubbing it in', but Merlin wasn't finished yet.

"I had my mother with me, of course. She accepted my magic, but she never really understood what it meant to me. And my father wasn't there... so I always felt so disconnected. The other children didn't want to play with me, because the adults all thought there was something wrong with me.

"Toward the end of my childhood it was particularly bad. I stuck out like sore a thumb, especially when we all gathered together. While everyone else got on so well with each other, Christmas always seemed to just intensify the fact that I was at odds with everyone. They all distrusted me, and I knew I wasn't ever really wanted there.

"When my mother- my letter, sent me to Hogwarts, it was the first time I'd ever really felt like I belonged. Those were the best Christmases I've ever had, and since I left it's never really been the same. I'm back in a world where people don't understand me. I'm detached.

"This is the first proper Christmas I've had in a long time. It definitely feels a little surreal."

There was a long pause that followed, and Merlin wondered why it was he felt the need to share these parts of his childhood with Tom. So far, the young boy's years had been full of unpleasantness. Perhaps if he knew that Merlin too had felt like an outcast for so much of his life, Tom might realise he wasn't on his own. Or maybe it was just the old Warlock who needed to feel like someone understood him.

"I always heard whisperings at Wools," Tom spoke quietly so that Merlin almost missed his eventual reply. The boy's brow was furrowed, and he seemed so young and small in the shadow of the twinkling tree. "Everywhere I went with those children, in fact, I'd hear it said: 'Who's the odd boy? Why won't he take part?' 'That's Tom,' they'd all reply, 'he's not like the other children'."

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but Tom stopped him.

"Don't try and comfort me, Mr Thomas. I know what they all meant. That something must be deeply wrong with me, just because their narrow little minds don't understand how mine works. I'll show them. One day." He finished bitterly, fists clenched in his lap.

Merlin reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I tried to hate them too, sometimes. But I never had it in me. Every time the village folk would stop and whisper as I walked past, or when their children would throw sticks when they saw me in the woods..." The Warlock trailed off, smiling sadly to himself as he conjured the face of his old friend. "But I had Will," he said, "My only companion before Hogwarts. When the other children teased me my mother would tell me 'be safe, ignore them', but Will would tell me 'prove them wrong.' He was a bit mischievous, but we always picked our battles. He never believed in violence, or lashing out. He always told me that when you hated someone, that hatred was on you, so it wasn't worth giving them the satisfaction. I don't think either of us really understood what that meant, but we went by it all the same."

"He was a muggle, Will?"

"Yeah," Merlin replied gazing into space, remembering his countless childhood antics, "The best kind."

"Maybe you're right." Tom murmured with sincerity. Merlin sat back in an exaggerated expression of shock, and Tom chuckled in response, but his eyes glittered with resolve.

"One day I'm going to prove to them all how wrong they were to look down at me."

Merlin smiled, glad that Tom wanted to overcome people's perceptions of him.

"And you'll do it the right way?" He said, voicing his worry.

Tom didn't answer, staring blankly into the fire.

Merlin swallowed awkwardly .

"On that previous topic," He began again, smiling mischievously and sitting forward in his chair, "How _is_ it going at Hogwarts? Do you think you've made a friend there?"

Tom rolled his eyes, any of his recent animation draining away.

"They're just children, Mr Thomas. They don't understand me."

"You should allow yourself to be a child sometimes too, you know." It saddened Merlin how Tom's determination not to let his guard down to the wider world prevented him from just having fun.

"It's such a shame you don't feel able to relax like you do when you're here."

Tom shrugged, but Merlin could tell his comment had touched a nerve. Having been so secretive and cold all his life, Tom seemed to struggle to admit how differently he acted around Merlin. In truth, Merlin didn't quite understand what it was about his company that could soften Tom, but it warmed his heart that he could.

"If I relax, then people will think they can undermine me."

"You think I'm going to undermine you?"

Tom glared at the floor a moment.

"I should hope not."

The pair sat in silence, as they often did, for a few long minutes. Eventually, Merlin decided to reach into the bag beside his arm chair and pull out a small, rectangular package. It was tied with a small bit of ribbon that rustled as he lifted it out, alerting Tom. Merlin passed the package into the boy's hands with a small smile, and when he seemed unsure Merlin gave an encouraging nod.

"It's for you."

"But, I didn't get you-"

"No matter. It's a gift enough that you're here. I've not had the pleasure of buying a Christmas present for years." Merlin replied, thinking back to the pompous boy who had scoffed on the threshold of Merlin's home, wondering why a man with fortunes would ever choose to live in such simplicity. It was true Tom harboured many kinds of arrogance, but he had begun to appreciate far more of the small things in life. He wanted to take nothing for granted in his quest for greatness, and while that was still a twisted outlook, it was a start.

Tom began to slowly unwrap the parcel, taking care not to tear the brown wrapping. Merlin watched him quietly, unable to help his smile growing as the boy he had come to think of as his own drew out a black, leather bound diary. He took a moment to stroke the cover; flick through the blank parchment pages and turn it over and over in his hands.

He looked up at Merlin with wide eyes.

"Thank you."

Before Merlin could reply Tom placed the diary on the floor beside him and turned to Merlin, giving him a small hug. It was the first open display of affection he had given, and the old Warlock found himself choked up as he returned the gesture. He realised that the diary was probably the first Christmas present Tom had received in a long time. Perhaps ever.

"It means a lot to me that you like it," He eventually managed to say, after Tom had abruptly drawn out of the hug, as if he had suddenly remembered how cold and unfeeling he was supposed to try and remain. Merlin was privileged to be able to see this side of Tom Riddle, there were probably few who ever would.

"But it's getting late, you should get some sleep. I promise we'll go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and see some more impressive festivities.

"Okay," Tom replied, turning to head up stairs, but hesitating a moment, "Goodnight Mo."

Merlin sat back by the fireplace and smiled.

 _~31st December 1938..._

Tom was angry.

He was often angry. Mo would tell him it was no use letting things you couldn't control make you angry, but Tom begged to differ. He was angry and he was determined to be able to control what it was that was making his blood boil every time he thought of it.

Mo was lying to him. And Mo had always, and would continue to lie to him day-in, day-out. What was worse, the strange man that Tom lived with seemed often completely aware that Tom knew he was lying. He could open up about his childhood all he liked, but it didn't stop the fact that Tom had virtually no idea who this man who had adopted him truly was. There were so many loose threads in his vague tales and it made Tom's head ache trying to keep track of all his obvious slips.

He wanted- no, _expected_ Tom to trust him and yet he gave nothing of the sort in return. Tom had never really believed in trust. And he truly trusted no one. It just wasn't worth it when no one dared to trust him with anything. Still, knowledge was power over people, and gaining the trust of his peers at Hogwarts had opened a great many doors for him. He held their secrets, so he held a part of their minds.

He had often thought about what he could use this for, but as of yet something seemed to be holding him back. He could get his- albeit stupid- class mates to do whatever he wanted... but he hadn't. He struggled to understand what it was that was keeping him from exercising his power, but it just felt like _the_ _wrong thing to do_.

He'd often scolded himself for his reluctance. This sort of ridiculous moral high-ground was Mo's thing, not his. He'd tried to tell himself he wasn't weak like his guardian, who was so hell-bent on being _nice_ all the time instead of achieving his goals. It frustrated Tom how much Mo jeopardised himself to be so pleasant when his life could be so much easier.

And yet still, Tom had not broken the trust that his peers had placed in him. They could finish his muggle studies homework for him whilst he read about more interesting things; they could save his favourite desk in classrooms and let him have all the peace and quiet he desired in the dormitory, if he so much as whispered that he'd let out their secrets. Frustratingly, he made his life harder in his unfathomable reluctance to do so.

Infuriatingly, he felt like Mo.

He'd told his fellow Slytherins he was from a pure-blood line to keep them happy; he'd said they could trust him; he'd reassured them when they struggled with the curriculum that they would improve. He'd lied to them all to make them happy. For their own good. And that was entirely foreign to him.

Religiously, he told himself that what Mo lied about was different. Mo wasn't lying to a bunch of clueless children, Mo was lying to _him_.

 _He must know that he's not making me happy by lying to me._

What made Tom happy was knowledge. What made Tom happy was feeling in control, and he felt neither of those things around Mo.

Alone in his bedroom on Pennethorne Road, Tom felt his anger rise even more. At Mo, at himself, at the world. The feeling was somewhat a comfort to him. Anger hid pain, it hid betrayal. Though he would never admit it, Tom felt a lot of betrayal. From Martha and Mo, from the children at the orphanage and from his family who were supposed to care for him. And of all the things he was angry at, perhaps the strongest of his frustrations was directed at himself. For letting it happen.

The young Riddle felt his magic begin to rise up with his emotions, as it still sometimes did.

Stilling himself, he took in a few deep breaths, moving his focus from his anger to the swelling tingling feeling within him. Gradually, he felt the storm retreat as he breathed, until he was calm again.

"One day." He whispered gently to himself, one day no one would ever think to undermine or lie to him again.

He often wondered why he bothered with Mo's exercises still. He'd seen the panic in the man's eyes when he'd had the outburst a few months ago- if he was angry at the man he should just let it all out and get what he wanted. Answers. But again, frustratingly, he didn't. Mo was still the only person Tom had ever felt somewhat understood him, and he felt that wasn't the right way to react. The greatest wizards did not have 'outbursts', instead they were always cool and calm and in control.

He didn't know why, but he wanted Mo, and everyone, to see he could be like that.

If he was destined to be a great wizard, as the vision had said, he had to act like one. From what he had read at Hogwarts, Merlin, the greatest wizard to live, had rarely been seen to lose his temper. He was reserved in displays of his power, and modest. Perhaps that was what made him so impressive to history. In truth, the man who could well be a myth fascinated Tom, and he was proud to be a part of his noble house.

Maybe one day he could be like him, or better.

But Mo? No, he didn't want to be like Mo.

Come January, he'd go back to Hogwarts with a single focus. No more getting distracted by morals and peers- Tom was there to be the best. And he certainly didn't have time to dwell on silly enigmas like what his guardian was hiding, no matter how much it might anger him that was so.

"Tom!" Came the muffled call from downstairs, "Breakfast is on the table!"

Tom sighed. He checked the calendar tacked to the wall beside his bed, to confirm what he already knew. Reluctantly, he resigned himself to his birthday.

Merlin hadn't laid on the most extravagant breakfast. He knew Tom preferred things more modest and simple. Things like birthdays seemed trivial to the young boy, but Merlin still wanted to make an enjoyable day of it. It saddened Merlin that Tom had tried to ignore all mentions of the day, as it reminded him painfully of the way he viewed each of his own passing years. A child shouldn't have to think like that.

A soft short hoot from Asio accompanied Tom's entrance and Merlin ushered him with a beam to his seat at the table. Tom remained expressionless as Merlin brought over two plates stacked with a bit of French toast, syrup and cooked apples and blackberries.

"You got a letter." Merlin said, picking up his cutlery and immediately diving into his own plate. Tom also began to eat, but his expression remained typically indifferent. He raised his eyebrows when Merlin spoke.

"What for?"

"You'll have to open it." Merlin replied, taking out the small brown envelope and sliding it across the table, trying to hide his intrigue as to what the letter might contain.

Methodically, Tom slit the envelope open and pulled out a card with a moving image of a wizarding firework that exploded into the shimmery letters of ' _Happy Birthday_!'. Tom payed very little attention to the outside of the card, reading the contents thoroughly. When he closed the card and didn't speak, Merlin piped up.

"Who was it from?"

"Avery," Tom replied, with little intention to continue.

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the boy, pausing from his breakfast in a sign that he wanted more information. Tom swallowed a mouthful and added quickly:

"A harmless idiot, really, but pleasant enough. Sits with me in history of magic."

"Ah," Merlin replied, a small smile playing on his lips, "An acquaintance of yours? You failed to mention if you'd made any friends."

Tom sucked in a tired breath. "I wouldn't say friends... but I'm not on my own all the time, if that's what you want to hear."

"I want to hear the truth, Tom." Merlin replied, forehead creased in sincerity. The Riddle boy only scoffed in response, but didn't reply.

Merlin allowed the silence to continue as they finished their breakfast. Tom cleared the plate completely, but Merlin could tell he was deliberately ignoring his own enjoyment of it. He was stubborn sometimes.

Merlin cleared the plates, insisting that Tom needn't help out with chores today, and popped the moving card up on the mantelpiece scanning the albeit standard birthday message left inside. Finally, he returned to the table.

"How often do you tell me what I 'want to hear'?" The Warlock said plainly, resting his elbows on the table as he addressed Tom. He'd felt that familiar flutter of panic at Tom's earlier comment, and his new attitude after discovering the boy's vision was to leave nothing unaddressed.

Tom shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, but betraying the slightest hint of stiffness, that would be noticeable by no one but Merlin.

"You worry a lot. I know you do. I'm only reassuring you there's no need." The boy said.

Merlin frowned down at the table. After their lovely few days over Christmas, Merlin noticed the shift in mood more than ever from Tom. He had known this day would probably stir up some unwelcome memories, and he also realised that the boy was probably impatient to get back to Hogwarts now that the holidays were drawing to a close. He didn't really want to let Tom go again, despite being reassured that Hogwarts was the best place for him. Merlin knew the boy felt at home there with his studies, but he also wanted him to feel comfortable at home with Merlin, too. With painful irony, he didn't want lies to come between them.

"Listen, I just don't want you to feel like you have to accommodate like that." Merlin said, "You do it a lot, don't you?" He thought back to the outburst Tom had had all those months ago, the boy had directed the focus away from the situation when he'd realised was Merlin getting so flustered. Merlin had been so paranoid that Tom was hiding things from him by lying, that he had forgotten to consider that maybe Tom was so secretive because he didn't want to worry Merlin. Martha would tell him it was unwise to assume the boy's motives were ever good natured- if he wanted to stay alert- but Merlin's heart couldn't help but warm to the idea. Perhaps Tom lied to keep him happy.

Tom shrugged again.

"That night," Merlin said, sitting back in his chair and smiling slightly as he entertained the thought, "You could easily have continued to be angry at me, but you didn't."

Tom's expression shifted in recognition of what Merlin was referring to. It was the first time since the outburst that they had directly discussed it. The boy seemed more engaged at this, as if Merlin had finally found something he wanted to talk about.

"You seemed awkward about it, so I changed the subject." He said, as usual trying to appear nonchalant.

"Why did you?" Merlin asked.

"Because I know what you did for me."

The Warlock frowned across the table, heart suddenly pounding.

"You shielded me from all the glass," Tom continued, "It was only fair to do something for you in return."

Merlin remembered. At the last second he'd shielded Tom from the blast. Trust the boy to notice he'd received no cuts or scratches like Merlin had.

"I'm glad some of my lessons have sunk in." Merlin said with a small chuckle, relief flooding his system.

"Mhm." Tom hummed, no evidence of lightheartedness in his own tone. "It's strange. Considering your wand was in your _pocket_."

The sense of relief vanished, leaving behind only a cold, hard dread. Of course, Tom had wanted to talk about this because he had questions of his own. Merlin's rational mind immediately crushed all the thoughts his heart had tried to hope for. Tom sought only his own answers, and he noticed everything. He lied for himself, not for Merlin. The old Warlock ran a hand across his chin as he thought of how to respond. If Tom was revealing that he knew full well about the wandless magic, that meant he wanted answers. Automatically, Merlin started to brainstorm cover ups, and all the while Tom stared evenly across at him, the tiniest hint of that cold, satisfied smile playing on his lips. It made Merlin gulp.

 _Perhaps_ , a small voice told him, _it would be best to tell him some of the whole truth for once. Perhaps it would be better than him working it out for himself down the line._

Merlin took a deep breath, hiding the fear from his face as he was so accustomed to doing.

"I was trying to be subtle." He chuckled to himself, though he felt little amusement.

"Very few wizards can do wandless magic, Mo." Tom said accusingly, but Merlin noted how he still called Merlin 'Mo', instead of the usual formality he resorted to when they had an argument. He wanted to make Merlin feel comfortable to open up to him.

"Did you read that?" Merlin asked, trying to buy time as his mind whirred with what he should and shouldn't give away.

"No. Dumbledore told me when I asked him when we'd be able to learn it. He didn't believe me when I said you could probably do it all the time." Tom's face was stony at the mention of the professor.

"You told professor Dumbledore about it?" Merlin spoke with a noticeably worried tone. The last thing he wanted was to be on the wizarding radar. Tom seemed intrigued by his distress.

"Why, is that a problem?"

"No, probably not." Merlin replied, forcing himself to calm. Tom was right, Albus Dumbledore probably didn't believe him. "I should probably explain."

"Yes." Tom glared across the table at Merlin. The Warlock forced himself not to shrink under the gaze.

"I'm not quite like other wizards. I'm not sure why, and it's not a question I like to ask myself. As you've probably gathered, in my day-to-day life I'm a bit of a recluse. I don't like to draw attention to myself... I don't want to be put on an unnecessary pedestal." Merlin began, hoping the sincerity of what he said would come across.

"I can do little tricks of wandless magic- only here and there. Sometimes I can perform bigger spells, but only under a lot of emotion- a little bit like how your magic used to act when you were angry. Everyone's magic is different, and I have come to discover that mine just interacts with the world more easily than others without a wand."

Tom nodded slowly, looking Merlin dead in the eye. "I knew you were different. You could be respected, _revered_."

"But I don't want to be." Merlin said quietly, a pained expression written across his face. "Yes, I might have talents above the ordinary wizard, but I don't think that means I'm not entitled to my own private life. Power shouldn't automatically put you in a position over others. Wisdom, leadership, ambition and morality- those are the things that should.

"Just as I don't believe wizards should hold any power over muggles, I don't think I should have any power over wizards just because I can get cups out of a cupboard without my wand. I've supported some incredible people in my life, none of them more skilled in magic than me, but all of them better qualified to lead.

"I'm sorry to have kept this from you Tom, but in this world, lying and hiding are the most successful ways for me to keep myself from anyone's expectations of me. And I'm often ashamed."

Merlin was silent for a long time after that. And he stared at his hands, and he thought of Arthur. Arthur, who had been a far better King than his father despite being younger and less experienced. Arthur, who had been a far better leader than Morgana, despite having no magic and trusting often blindly.

He thought of himself, who had grown so used to lying that it became easier than the truth. After Arthur's death, Guinevere hadn't asked him. But others had. They came to him, hoping that the man they had heard was the greatest sorcerer to walk the Earth would lead them into a time of peace. He often wondered if he could have done it, though he knew he couldn't. He wasn't a leader, he never would be. Perhaps he blamed himself for the fall of old magic from the land, perhaps he could have stopped it. But the truth was, he had retreated away into lies, so he wouldn't be faced with such questions again.

He thought of Tom, who unlike Merlin, strived for greatness above all. He was an exceptional child, and Merlin would always worry how on earth such a strong but equally troubled soul would find a good place in the world.

"Would you support me?" Tom said after a long time. His tone was different; he spoke not with ambition or his usual iciness, but with hope, like a child seeking his guardian's approval. Like he wanted Merlin to be proud of him.

"Perhaps." The Warlock replied, "Happy Birthday."

 _I've been writing this story for a year now, so a big thanks to everyone who's stuck with it. I'm still really enjoying myself, which is great._

 _One final thing to mention is a particular thanks to 'anielsen33326' for suggesting I try to write a chapter from Tom's PoV. I originally dismissed the idea because it sounded hard and intimidating, but I gave it a go and it was actually a lot of fun, so I might revisit in the future._

 _This will likely be the last chapter before the new year so I'll wish everyone a merry Christmas and a happy new year :)_

 _Yours, Hedge_


	7. Chapter 7: The Visit

The visit

 _Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. It's been through a lot of drafts. Thank you as always for your follows, favourites and reviews._

 _~18th November 1939..._

Merlin sat at his desk in his study, peering between the piles of unsorted books either side to read the open page in front of him. He rarely read these kinds of runes anymore, and it took him a few pages to get back into it.

A small frown etched concentration into his face as he took a few notes on the parchment resting on his knee.

Now he wasn't travelling so much, Merlin found himself doing a lot more research in the 'spaces in between' (as he had names the weeks when Tom was at school). He'd also begun to sift through the contents of his study, as he searched for the right books. This was often where the problem lay, and probably why he'd made so little progress finding out about the crystal.

That, and the fact that the Old Religion tended to write its own rules, and there was possibly no explanation for Tom's vision at all!

Though mainly, Merlin kept stumbling across distractions. His old spellbook was always out and about somewhere to remind him of all the days he'd spent in Camelot, stealing away from his chores to study every word. He'd also found a sidhe staff stuffed behind a shelf the other day, along with several other trophies of his secret attempts to save his king's life. Relics of Arthur and of his past were everywhere in here. He wondered why he bothered to keep them.

Some objects brought back happier memories than others: like a set of dice he'd stolen from the many nights of gambling down at the tavern, or a small wooden dragon that had almost toppled out of a chest in the corner, and made Merlin shed a tear remembering his final evening with his father. Everything in this stuffy old room was connected to those dear, dead days beyond recall.*

And now the Crystal of Nehatid had its own home up on the side of the desk. It no longer beckoned Merlin to peer in, but, as if they were locked in an awkward conversation, he avoided direct eye-contact.

In the time since her revelation, Merlin had also started weekly meetings with Martha at Pennethorne Road. It had begun with Merlin wanting to continue to support her all he could through her discovery of the magical world, and also to discuss Tom.

Whilst they didn't always end up discussing the young Riddle boy, he was usually the main subject of conversation. Everything seemed to wind back to him. Martha found Merlin's progress fascinating, and though they had both shared some dark afternoons wondering about how far he still had to go, the Orphanage head would always mention Merlin's unique effect on the boy.

"We're lucky you of all people found him. I don't think there's another who can connect with that child like you can Mortimer." She'd once said, and Merlin found it both flattering and reassuring that she thought so. If there was one woman he could trust to be honest and frank with him, it was Martha.

Despite her limited knowledge of beyond the muggle world, he admired her insight still. Martha had a logical approach to problems that allowed her to make surprising sense of things she didn't yet understand. And Merlin needed that sometimes. He really felt as though, for the first time in centuries, he had made a true friend. However, that fact worried him as much as it was a welcome comfort, because whilst he could share with Martha, the invisible elephant in the room still remained. That this partnership was not permanent.

Merlin was... well, _Merlin_. And for whatever reason that meant he was eternal. Perhaps it was a millennium-old habit that kept him from telling her more about himself, or maybe it was the fact that he cherished the simplicity of their relationship too much. Part of him didn't want to burden her with anything more than he already had... and part of him just didn't like to talk about his immortality at all. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he could almost forget about the whole thing...

The other dilemma he hadn't told Martha about was the vision. She'd only tentatively asked once, and not again since. Merlin was grateful that she understood he needed more time. Even now, so long after, he still wasn't sure what he wanted to do with the knowledge from the crystal. Only that he had it, and he didn't yet understand it.

Acquiring a pensive would surely be a good place to start unpicking it all, but Merlin hadn't owned one in all his years of wandering. Watching back memories of the past had never appealed to him much before.

The fact remained, that searching for a pensive was too much of an attention-drawing activity in the wizarding world, and Merlin dared not turn to the crystals- they were far too unpredictable.

So he had resolved himself to research.

Of course, he could only coop himself up in his study and meet with Martha during term-time though. If Tom were to find out about how much he shared and discussed with the Orphanage head... he'd certainly feel betrayed. And it made Merlin feel a little guilty to think about it.

He was living two lives again. He was good at that.

Despite his meandering research and weekly meetings, Merlin lived for the moments when Tom returned home.

The old Warlock could not believe the time that had passed since he had first seen the young boy off to Hogwarts, waving frantically on the platform, as if it had been a final goodbye. It never really got any easier to watch the train pull out of platform 9 and 3/4, but Merlin was experienced with it now.

In September Tom had begun his second year, after a shinning set of exam results at the beginning of the summer. Though Merlin had never worried about or doubted Tom's academic ability.

They had begun to discuss Tom's possible future. Though it seemed premature, whenever the boy returned home it seemed he had a knew career that he thought could use his talents. Merlin was happy to entertain the ideas of Aurors and Ministers- it could give Tom a path to channel his ambition. Though he might moan about its ridiculous intricacies now, Merlin thought the Riddle boy would make a powerful politician.

Perhaps the best use of his talents and want for authority, Merlin had speculated, would be teaching. He certainly wasn't ready yet, and would probably scoff at the idea, but in a perfect world Merlin hoped Tom would be able to pass on his skills and knowledge to others. That was providing, of course, that Merlin's care of him was successful in changing his attitudes.

Tom was far better now with fellow wizards, but Merlin's biggest challenge whenever the boy returned home was keeping him engaged in the muggle world. No matter where they went, Tom just seemed to lack any interest in things that weren't magical. They'd only had a handful of incidents where the boy had been outright rude to a muggle, but his temper often ran short.

A cutting jibe there, a whispered comment here... it never seemed to end.

But increasingly, these moments of Tom's cruelty were interspersed with a growing tolerance- perhaps even acceptance- of the world around him. It was the simple shift in perspective from Tom's inward and isolated thoughts only of himself, to considering the effect he had on others.

"Is it worth it?" Merlin would often coach him, "Disliking others in such a way, when really they have no bearing on your life?"

Sometimes Tom would scoff at his words, but Merlin made a point of not giving in. Every snide comment from the boy was addressed, and perhaps it was smothering, but every so often Tom would nod in agreement.

"Perhaps you're right."

And in those moments, slowly but surely, he felt he was getting there.

 _~15th January 1940..._

It was early evening at Hogwarts, but Tom Riddle wasn't hungry. He'd often skip dinner when he had other things on his mind, and he sat now in the empty dormitory, with a book in his hand. He took in a sharp breath as he placed the leather-bound tomb on his lap. Without its obvious preservation charms, it was so ancient that he felt it might flake away in his hands if he held it too long. He didn't dare open it just yet, after all it had taken to get hold of the thing.

He'd strolled into the library yesterday morning without really thinking. He would often find his feet carrying him there when he wasn't in lessons, he just couldn't help but be drawn to the place.

He nodded once to the librarian as he passed her, before continuing to peer up at the rows and rows of books that enveloped him. He had devoured the handful of reads Mo had given him long ago, and whilst then they had once been a gateway into the wizarding world, they seemed so small now in comparison. Hogwarts library was breathtaking, (and Tom prided himself on being moved in such a way by few things). How such a resource existed at his complete disposal was incredible to him.

Well, almost. The restricted section had yet to welcome him in.

He'd asked some of the faculty about it before, trying to broach the subject with a request for wider reading. However, as soon as they cottoned on to the kind of permission he was asking for, they would dismiss him.

"Second Years should really be focusing on their core studies, Tom"

"There's no need for such books, you can find plenty of information in the rest of the library."

Even Professor Dumbledore had just smiled, and shaken his head sadly at the request.

It was patronising.

They didn't understand that the rest of the library Tom could delve into whenever he liked. The restricted section withheld its knowledge, and that is exactly what drew Tom in. Maybe some students wouldn't be able to handle themselves around such potentially dark ideas, but Tom knew he was capable. The more he knew about all kinds of magic, the better he could master his own. The sooner he could earn the respect he was destined to have.

He hovered beside the roped off section of the library as he passed, peering beadily over at the dust caked volumes. He could almost hear them whispering their secrets to him. If he could only get a little closer...

The Riddle boy stalled himself abruptly. No, he wouldn't dare break in. That was the sort of reckless plight only a Gryffindor would undertake. Tom had far more respect for the rules than they did. They were put in place for a reason, and for now, he would follow them.

Tom let a delicate finger trace across a hundred spines as he slowly traversed a shelf at eye level. He studied each title carefully, waiting for something to particularly peak his interest.

His first year in the library had albeit been a frantic delve into every book he set his eyes on. Tom had sat on the moth-eaten chair in the back recess of the room, with a stack of books as high as himself, trying to soak up everything he could.

Whereas now, he took far more care deciding what to read.

He was more controlled. He liked to think he'd learnt patience, and that he could play the long game, but perhaps it was just an excuse for the fact that he still felt like he hadn't done _anything_.

In truth, he was tired of waiting. If he could just have access to the restricted section... maybe it would have more details about his destiny. He deserved the knowledge in those books, he knew it. But he had yet to find a way to them.

Tom had a plan. Of course he had a plan. And every time he passed the roped off section he was fuelled with motivation to finally put it into action. But then he would head back to the common room and spend an evening with his mindless peers and the idea would just... fizzle out.

Out of sight from the rest of the library the Riddle boy pounded a fist into a hard oak shelf. He was too weak. Mo had turned him soft. He could tell himself all he liked that he was waiting for a more cunning idea to cross his mind, but the truth always remained _. He couldn't do it._

His classmates were painfully aggravating at times. They could barely shut their mouths about their rich family lines and yet none of the superiority they claimed to have shone through in their studies. Tom knew virtually nothing of his own heritage- that it had been great, he was certain- but he outshone his peers in all aspects of their studies. After all, Mo might act like a fool most of the time, but he certainly wasn't, and it appeared he came from nothing. Tom had to admit that the mystery around his guardian aided him considerably.

He pitied his classmates. For being so much simpler than he was. They didn't have such a future to reach for, they couldn't understand. Despite how mundane they could be, he didn't feel comfortable throwing them under a bus to reach his goal. They didn't deserve it.

Tom took a few deep, calming breaths. He'd had enough of Mo's shadow conscience following him wherever he went. He'd had enough of other people's influences clouding his ambitions. He was not the boy he had been at Wools anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't be ruthless. Mo couldn't turn him soft that easily.

It was time to put his plan into action.

It had been relatively easy, really. Just a whisper here and there.

Avery would do it, Tom had known he would. No one would suspect the boy of caving so easily into the favour, but Tom had known better.

One quiet threat that he would tell the whole Slytherin common room that Avery had a crush on Myrtle Warren, was enough to send the boy practically running to the library in the dead of night.

Ten minutes after, Tom had followed, slipping between the patrolling professors with ease. He had met Avery at the library entrance.

"You get it?" Tom whispered.

"Y-yeah. Thick one, about Hogwarts and the founders, or something." The slight boy withdrew the tomb from his robes, Tom took it and quickly stowed it beneath his.

"You put the decoy in?"

"I did, don't worry."

"No alarms go off?"

"No, none."

Tom paused for a second in thought. If there had been no alarms so far then...

"One more favour."

"But I've-"

"You've not got a choice. And if you breath a single word of this..." Tom drew up to his full height over the boy, who trembled a moment before nodding.

"Go back in there, pick up another book for yourself. No use you coming here and doing this for me without getting anything out of it." Tom's voice was silky and welcoming, though he still towered over Avery with an unspoken menace.

The boy nodded after a moment, "Good idea." He turned to go back inside the library but Tom stalled him for a final time.

"Open it up to check there's nothing nasty in there first. I've heard some of the books bite." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder in earnest, "You're a real friend Avery, thank you."

Moments later, when the book Avery had picked let out a shrill scream, Tom listened to its far off echoing down the halls with a smile. He was long gone.

Avery had received a weeks detention, and fifty points from Slytherin. It was up to him whether that had been worth keeping his secret. It was lose-lose as far as Tom could see. The Riddle boy had stowed his tomb away in his suitcase until the events had blown over. In the commotion of finding a student in the restricted section at night, the fact that one of the books had been swapped for a harmless other had gone unnoticed.

His classmate hadn't said a word to him since last night, but Tom had observed his fearful glances. He pictured his expression again now: the glassy eyes and tiny tremble in the boy's jaw. It reminded him of the effect he had at Wools.

Before, in a way, he had enjoyed it. The way he could make the children all look at him like that; the way he could control them.

Later, after his vision, their fear had suited him. It meant they left him alone to his studies. To his thoughts.

He knew in Slytherin, the dynamic was different. People were drawn to fear, they had a certain respect for it. He'd been at Hogwarts long enough to know that those who could be feared could lead. Avery would come back to him soon. He knew it.

Fear was an easy way to gain respect. Those who lead entirely by fear were the weakest of leaders, Mo had once said.

In the Orphanage, Tom had lead with fear. It used to give him a thrillingly cold rush. It still did- in the moment- but it didn't last anymore. Every time he did something like this; every time he tried to be that boy he was at Wools... he felt a strange frustration at himself afterwards. As if that rush of power represented only a loss of control, and held its own weakness. As if he felt _guilty_.

Tom felt so angry for being soft. For standing by and not taking advantage of the people at his disposal. But at the same time, he wasn't comfortable with himself any more when he _did_ do such things. The moral confusion drove him insane. He sometimes wondered what his purpose even was anymore.

And then he would remember the vision. And he would remember Mo. No matter how much his guardian frustrated him, he wanted to show the man how great he could become. The vision served as evidence that he would make to that goal.

He returned his attention to the book in front of him. What was done was done. Tom drew out his wand and placed it to the spine of the great volume, whose title read: _'Hogwarts: the mysteries of the birthplace of modern magic'._

" _Confundo_ ," he whispered, and then, " _silencio_."

Tom prised open the book, which now convinced it was still back on its shelf in the library, soundlessly offered up its knowledge. He flicked through to a random page where the embellished handwritten title: _'Salazar Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets beckoned him in._

 _~2nd February 1940..._

The doorbell of the house on Pennethorne Road rang softly.

Merlin looked up from the local muggle newspaper, puzzled. The postman had already been, and he usually met with Martha on Sundays. He wasn't expecting anyone.

With a little caution, he went to open the front door.

The man that faced him on the threshold was well into his middle ages, and wore a long, grey coat with a plain, brown hat, but his blue eyes sparkled with an inner glow. You could see the collar of his wizarding robes beneath, but Merlin hardly needed the man's fashion as a sign he was a wizard, he carried a significant air of powerful magic in his presence.

Whilst Tom's power could often be rather raw and seemed to crackle in the air around him, the figure on the doorstep possessed the humming vibrations of a wizard whose skills were honed and mastered.

Merlin glanced down now at the man's wand, poking just out of his pocket. Immediately, he knew it.

This was Albus Dumbledore, a Hogwarts professor who was no doubt one of Tom's current teachers. Though until now he had never met the man, Merlin knew the reverence with which he was always spoken of. People had a lot of time for his wisdom and his skill, and though he seemed to avoid scandal (besides the rumours about Grindelwald), the press often reported on what he was up to.

"Can I help you?" Merlin asked with a signature smile. Almost before he could blink, Albus Dumbledore sprung into action.

"Mr Thomas, so glad we could finally meet." The man shook his hand vigorously with a beam. He strode with admirable conviction into Merlin's home, and perplexed, Merlin allowed him to hang up his coat and followed him down the hallway.

 _For a man under so much gaze,_ Merlin thought as he showed Dumbledore to a seat beside the fireplace, _he certainly seems at ease._

Calmly, the old Warlock took out his wand and set it about the kitchen as he entered, making a second cup of tea for his guest, whose twinkling eyes he could sense taking in the room behind him.

From the revered name of Albus Dumbledore, this was not what he had expected. He had no idea what the man was here for, but he could hazard a guess. Despite his inviting air, Merlin's stomach churned.

 _What had Tom done?_

"I'll put the kettle on."

Five minutes later, Merlin sat across from Albus Dumbledore, waiting for him to speak. The professor took a long sip from his cup of tea, drawing out the pause as if he secretly relished the awkwardness. As if, privately, he found it incredibly amusing.

 _Perhaps_ , Merlin thought to himself, _it is_.

Finally, the professor spoke.

"I am right in saying you took custody of Tom Riddle in May of 1938?"

"Yes, that's correct." Merlin replied, itching to find out what on Earth this visit was for. He couldn't help but feel a paternal defensiveness rise up within him. He thought of the boy almost as his own at this point, and he was aware that others didn't see the same side of Tom that he could. They would view him simply as the cold, unfeeling monster- the mask Tom wore only to protect himself. It wasn't their fault, but he hoped Dumbledore wouldn't view him that way.

"You travel much?"

He almost didn't catch the professor's question, and it surprised him a little. He wondered why his travelling was relevant, and what Dumbledore was getting at here.

"I used to. Not now I've got Tom." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

Dumbledore took another long sip from his mug, ignoring Merlin's expectant gaze.

"You're an interesting man, Mr Thomas. There's very few records of you." He said eventually, as if he'd never heard Merlin's question. The man's nonchalance and seemingly complete lack of purpose in his questioning was making Merlin restless.

"So I've been told." Merlin clipped in a brief reply. He'd become good at dodging those kinds of comments. Dumbledore moved on with little reluctance.

"Might I say you've got a lovely living area," the wizard now said, looking about himself with a small smile. Still he ignored Merlin's ever narrowing eyes, "I would love to know where you got that painting in the hall-"

"Why are you here, professor?" Merlin cut him off, aware it probably wasn't something that happened to the man often, "I am assuming this meeting is about Tom, so why do I feel as though I am having the friendliest interrogation of my life."

Dumbledore seemed amused greatly by this. He smiled warmly across at Merlin, nodding and taking a deep breath. As if to give in.

"I wanted to meet you. Perhaps to warn you-"

"To warn me?" Merlin interjected again, but this time Dumbledore ploughed on.

"You interest me, Mr Thomas. I hardly thought you would be an ordinary man: you have a lovely home but you rarely seem to live in it; you own an orphanage and besides the correct documentation, one can find almost nothing about you. No source of wealth, not even a record of your Hogwarts attendance... I just had to find out who it was that had adopted Tom Riddle."

"I was largely homeschooled," Merlin replied unsure of what to make of the whole exchange, "but Tom is not aware of that."

Dumbledore nodded slowly as the Warlock spoke, and he felt the need to add, "Our relationship may not be entirely truthful, but I assure you, professor, my care for him is entirely genuine."

"I'm glad to hear that. I really am. I think we could be of real help to one another."

Merlin raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Enlighten me."

The professor's eyes sparkled at the opportunity.

"I have always been curious about Tom. He is a real prodigy, and I think he's struck a chord with all of his professors, but..." Dumbledore trailed off a moment, looking contemplative, and Merlin wondered what it could be that the wizard wasn't sure he could say.

Eventually, he spoke.

"When you adopted Tom, did you learn of his parents?" The professor phrased the question simply, but Merlin felt as though he was being probed. Perhaps to see how much he knew?

Merlin considered what he should let on. Dumbledore was not a man to be trifled with, that was for sure, but he seemed strangely inviting. As if despite his interrogative questioning, his motive was pure.

"If you're asking about Salazar Slytherin professor, I am aware." Merlin replied matter-of-factly.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows a little and smiled at him, as if in recognition. Now, he spoke with more interest and vigour.

"There aren't many people who know about his heritage. I think, not even Tom himself." The professor said.

"As his guardian, I think it's my duty to know," Merlin replied, feeling that strange paternal nature grow within him again, as it did whenever he felt his relationship with the boy questioned, "I haven't told him, though."

Now, Dumbledore stroked his chin lightly as he spoke.

"An incident occurred at the school not long ago. A student was found breaking into the restricted section of the library. Amidst the confusion, a book managed to go missing, despite the fact that the student was caught red-handed."

"What are you insinuating-"

"I am not," Dumbledore said, placing a hand up to stall Merlin's interjection, "Insinuating anything. Only, a week later, Tom came to ask me about the Chamber of Secrets."

"I've heard the legends," Merlin replied, "but this seems unrelated."

"The book that went missing from the library contained all sorts of information about such a place. Tales that the heir of Slytherin would one day come to complete Salazar's noble work... If Tom knew of his heritage, and was to take up such an idea..."

Merlin scoffed.

"I took on Tom because I saw a child that I could help, Mr Dumbledore. A _child_. Not a monster and not a danger, as you will have me make out." He said with burning sincerity. To imply Tom would consider such an ideology shook his very core.

Frustratingly, Dumbledore sat back again in his chair with that same contemplative gaze.

"I'm confused, professor." Merlin replied to his unusual action. Why had Dumbledore come to warn him of this?

"I am just thinking, is all. Tom is a child with stunning magical potential, but a troubled past. I believe he is a boy who could change the world... perhaps for good, but most likely for ill. It would be against everything I stand for to let the boy take the wrong path."

"Believe me," Merlin replied, "I am aware of the pressure. But I try to remain optimistic."

Dumbledore spoke about Tom as though he had almost no belief in the boy's ability to change. It struck Merlin uncomfortably how Tom might be behaving at Hogwarts, but he allowed the professor to continue.

"Tom needs the right influence. When I first met the lad I sensed something dark brewing within him. During my lessons, I could be there to keep an eye, but outside the classroom... I fretted about what became of him. When my suspicions of his research into the Chamber began, I knew I had to address my curiosity about his home life. About you. I needed to know we were on the same page. I think we can work together to keep Tom from hurting anyone."

For the first time since his arrival, Dumbledore seemed almost apprehensive as he waited for Merlin's answer.

"I'm not sure we are on the same page, professor." Merlin replied with a glare, "With the right influence I think Tom can heal. At first, I worried about controlling him, but eventually, I grew to realise there was an incredible young boy under all that coldness. He needs love and care, not _surveillance_."

"I understand." Dumbledore replied, meeting Merlin's burning gaze evenly.

But Merlin didn't think Dumbledore understood at all. He didn't like the way the man spoke about the Riddle boy. He sought to protect others from the harm he thought Tom might commit, and as genuinely concerned as he may sound, the professor did not care for Tom like Merlin did. He did not see Tom as a child, he saw Tom as a threat. It worried the old Warlock to hear that the orphan might be getting involved in any dishonest activity, but it still didn't take the thunderous look from his face.

"I'm sorry if I've snapped," Merlin said eventually, trying to soften. He could see Dumbledore believed in what he was saying, and that he only wanted to help. It wasn't entirely fair to dismiss him.

"I guess I just feel some sort of... duty. This intense care. Because I know others often see Tom as something he is not. You clearly don't see him like I do."

The professor hummed in response, betraying little conviction.

Merlin smiled to himself, a hint of sadness in his tone as he added quietly.

"We go into these things hoping to keep our enemies close, and I guess you never expect to grow to love them."

At this comment Dumbledore's expression changed, his inviting smile melting away into a hard frown.

"Don't make friends out of your enemies, Mr Thomas. You just make it more devastating when they fall. And they will, _fall_." Now it was Merlin's turn to feel scaled by the strength of his words. This time when Dumbledore spoke there was no twinkle in his bright blue eyes, instead, they shone with foreboding. But the man seemed distant, as if his advice was not only to Merlin, but also to someone from long ago.

"You are somewhat of a bitter man, Dumbledore," the old Warlock replied, "Whatever grudges you hold from your rumoured friendship with Grindelw-"

" _You know nothing_." Dumbledore interrupted with a deathly glare.

Merlin had struck a nerve.

"A wise friend once told me that my determination to see good in everyone would be my downfall." He said, his gaze floating to the ceiling as he remembered Kilgharah's words.

"Your friend was right." Dumbledore grumbled hoarsely, swigging the last drops of tea from his mug. This was clearly not how the professor had envisioned this conversation would go.

"I thought maybe he was." Merlin continued, "But then, when I remained distant and suspicious of my enemies, I pushed him away. I pushed him to bring about my downfall..." The old Warlock trailed off, bringing a hand to gently rest on his chin. By never allowing Mordred a chance; by refusing to see the good in him, Merlin had brought about Arthur's doom. Whether it had been fated to happen or not, Merlin still held himself personally responsible.

He would not make the same mistake again with Tom. He had seen the good in him, he always would.

"'Him', you said you pushed 'him' away."

Barely noticing Dumbledore's reply, Merlin shook his head sadly.

"Never mind who. But I cannot agree when you tell me that Tom is a monster. That I cannot let myself become attached. Care and attachment are _exactly_ what can help Tom, don't you see?"

This time Dumbledore did not try to counter him. It seemed to Merlin that his visitor had realised neither would be swayed on their opinion. Each had the shadowy ghost of a past mistake to hold them firm. The professor nodded slowly, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Now, to Merlin's surprise, their conversation seemed to take on a different tone. One of understanding.

"Very well," the professor said, "perhaps our values are different, but I believe that you are an honest man. I think it would be beneficial for us to keep in contact for that very difference." Dumbledore paused a moment, but Merlin gestured for him to go on. Something about the wizard's inviting air made him want to trust the man on this.

"If I am correct, and it is too late for Tom to change his ways, then our communication will allow me to deal with those consequences."

Merlin made to interject, but Dumbledore once again held up a hand to stop him.

"If, on the other hand, you are correct, and Tom heals under your care... then we can discuss how best to support him in that. I guess my point is that, I am willing to accept your way of caring for Tom Riddle, if you are willing to accept my wariness about him. And, whichever way this turns out, one of us can pick up where the other leaves off."

Dumbledore spoke eloquently, and he was very convincing. Perhaps it was safer this way, Merlin thought, to cover all bases. It would mean he could finally check up on Tom at Hogwarts, and it was important surely that he kept abreast of the boy's research into the Chamber and his heritage. Though he disagreed with Dumbledore, they seemed to have a certain sense of understanding between them.

Merlin nodded, "Hot cocoa?"

"That would be lovely." Dumbledore beamed, relaxing.

"You wouldn't happen to have any-"

"Whipped cream?" Merlin cut in with a small smile.

" _Exactly_." The professor replied, lighting up, "I can see it now: perhaps we're going to get along well, you and I."

Merlin tipped his head in thought, "Perhaps."

 _~10th July 1940..._

Merlin rocked apprehensively back and forth on his heels, staring expectantly at the growing speck in the distance that was the Hogwarts express, finally approaching the platform.

Moments later, noise erupted as floods of people disembarked from the steaming red engine, attempting to say goodbye to their friends and find their waiting families. It was a cacophony of flying trunks and trolleys and hooting animals, but Merlin remained still.

Tom always knew where he'd be waiting. Eventually, a slight pale figure squeezed his way through the surging crowd. He looked up at Merlin, filling the old Warlocks heart with joy.

It was a few moments before Merlin realised that Tom Riddle was striding toward him with a far more fuming purpose. The boy stopped inches from his guardian, looking him dead in the eyes in a way that could make a man sweat.

"Did you _know_?" He ground out quietly.

When Merlin only gaped for a moment, Tom reached out and gripped the sleeve of his guardian's coat, speaking more desperately now.

"Mo, _did you know_?"

"I-" Merlin started before he shut his mouth once more, unsure what to say. Tom's tone distressed him, "I don't know..." He trailed.

"About Slytherin?" Tom was shaking his arm now, trying to get a response out of him, "Did you know about Salazar Slytherin!?"

Merlin's confusion about what he was being asked fell deftly away from him. He looked at Tom with a deeply furrowed brow, but the boy stared evenly up at him: angry, but satisfied.

Merlin sighed, his shoulders dropping. He kneaded his forehead a moment. Dumbledore had warned him. He should have seen this coming.

"Yes," he said in quiet resignation, "I knew."

 _*A quote from All My Sons._

 _Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter, I did enjoy writing it, but it took a lot longer than I expected._

 _I said the pace was going to pick up a bit more, and this is kind of it. I'm not going to drag out this story much, so though it's going to span Tom's entire education, I'm only going to cover certain events. Expect a few more time gaps._

 _Yours, Hedge_


	8. Chapter 8: The Lake

_**An important note to say that I have edited the penultimate scene of chapter 7. If you read the last chapter within a week of me posting, you'll probably need to go back and read that bit again.**_

 _I just wasn't happy with the way I'd portrayed Dumbledore, despite the fact that scene went through so many drafts anyway... I know it's a little annoying but I just couldn't let it sit until I'd rewritten it._

 _Here is a nice, long and surprisingly early chapter for you as an apology. This took far less time than I expected. A thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and especially reviewed this story in that time. Hope you all enjoy._

The Lake

 _~10th July 1940..._

" _Did you know about Salazar Slytherin!?"_

" _Yes," Merlin said in quiet resignation, "I knew."_

Tom tipped his head back to the sky in exasperation at Merlin's albeit sheepish admittance. Internally, the Warlock was kicking himself.

Dumbledore had warned him of this when they had met a few months ago. Now it had happened. He tried to still his pounding heartbeat. He couldn't allow a slip in composure, this wasn't over yet. He filled himself with determination to prove to Dumbledore, and perhaps also now to himself, that just because Tom knew his ancestry, did not mean he would seek to take up the dark ideas surrounding it.

Tom had no interest in Muggles, he wouldn't seek to harm them, surely? And the rumours about Salazar's real intentions had been uncertain even at the time...

The Riddle boy glared at him still, and Merlin returned his steely gaze, hoping Tom would keep his cool. He was overly aware of their frozen stances in the midst of the bustling movement across the rest of the platform.

Merlin attempted to guide Tom to a quieter spot, but he wriggled his shoulder free from Merlin's touch.

"Tom.." he said, trying to still him, "Let's talk about this when we get home."

"Ah, yes," Tom replied sharply, "Let's talk when it's _convenient_ for you."

Merlin had to admit, he was a little wounded by the boy's accusatory tone.

"Okay then, we can do this here." He replied, gesturing to a rusty bench against the brick walls of the platform, which was emptying more quickly now. Some families still milled about in conversation, but no one noticed the pair of them as they retreated stiffly to the bench. They sat a few feet apart, and Merlin eyed Tom with a parental worry. He wanted this to be okay.

"Why didn't you tell me?" It sounded less like a question, and more like a demand. Though behind the cold eyes he fixed on his guardian, Tom seemed genuinely hurt.

"I was a coward, I suppose." Merlin replied with sincerity. He didn't know what he could say, really. He hadn't told Tom because it seemed risky. In some strange twist of fate, he had hoped it would never matter. That he'd never have to explain. He'd been building up to it, realistically, as he knew that telling Tom when he first arrived all those months ago would have been unwise. The Tom of those days would certainly have sought out the darkest rumours about Salazar, and taken them up with great pleasure. Like a birthright.

Tom raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "That's not an excuse. This isn't like your wandless magic, Mo. This isn't _your_ secret to keep."

Merlin couldn't help but feel a fluttering in his chest at the mention, and he looked around them quickly to check for eavesdroppers. Tom noticed this action and regarded him with a sad smile. As if he pitied Merlin's desire to hide his skills.

"I know... I'm sorry." The old Warlock hung his head a moment as he spoke.

Tom scoffed in response. Sorry didn't cut it.

"There isn't exactly a light way to talk about Salazar Slytherin. The reasons he was forced from Hogwarts by the other founders are shrouded in uncertainty. If I told you I feared what conclusions you might draw." Merlin said, though Tom was probably aware of this from his evident research. Merlin wondered exactly how it had dawned on the boy he was Slytherin's descendant.

Tom shook his head, jaw clenched, eyes unfeeling. Merlin gripped the handle of the bench beside him. Surely, he couldn't lose Tom like this?

"That's my family. That's my lineage. Damned what people think of him. I have a right to redeem him. I'm going to restore his noble name, just you try and _stop me_."

Merlin's expression darkened at this, and he noticed Tom's determined composure falter a little. Tom could try all he liked to deny it, but he still cared what Merlin thought of him. To the old Warlock, at least, it was a small reassurance.

"I don't know what you've read, but the sources are all clear on one thing: Salazar Slytherin didn't want muggle-borns at Hogwarts. He was suspicious of, and even perhaps hated muggles. You are better than that Tom. I've taught you better than that, you understand?"

Merlin's stomach churned. Every wizard, no matter their background, had a right to learn magic. After all the blood that had been shed over the centuries to get to this point where sorcerers could learn freely... Merlin felt duty bound, to Tom, and to his role as Emrys, to ensure that the Riddle boy didn't turn back on that. If Wizards ever claimed power or dominance over muggles, the cycle of revenge would begin again.

Tom looked shaken for a moment by Merlin's strong words, but he soon swallowed down his emotions. When he didn't reply, Merlin reached across to him, gripping his shoulder.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Tom replied quietly, "I don't care about the muggles, Mo. Their lives don't concern me. What I care about is restoring my family honour. How has one of the greatest wizards to ever live been reduced to this?"

Tom gestured to himself, to Merlin, to the rusty bench. He swung his legs hopelessly in front of him a moment.

"I've always known some larger destiny is mine. This is it, Mo. And you kept it from me."

Merlin sighed internally as Tom once again spoke with such reverence and longing for _destiny_. Merlin hardly knew what that meant anymore. Perhaps Tom thought his magic, the vision, all of it, was connected to this. A noble birthright would certainly seal the deal. Merlin didn't like the way Tom still adopted the mindset of 'us' and 'them' when he spoke of muggles, but Dumbledore had been wrong about Tom wishing harm on them. On his father, perhaps. But under Merlin's care, he no longer saw the whole of the muggle world as his enemy.

The platform was silent and empty now, and Merlin shuffled along the bench closer to the Riddle boy. His initial anger seemed to have fizzled out now, leaving only a seething silence in its wake.

"How did you find out?" Merlin asked eventually.

"I don't think I owe you any explanation. Since all you do is lie to me."

"That is hardly fair to say." Merlin countered. They each had their own secrets.

"I barely know who you are." Tom murmured, almost inaudibly, but he rounded a penetrating gaze on Merlin that struck him profoundly.

That familiar guilt filled his heart as the old Warlock forced himself to ignore the comment. He knew he was walking a thin line. He always had done, when he thought of all he had kept from those he cared about. But that didn't mean he wasn't genuine. Merlin believed you could have no idea of a person's past or heritage, and still come to know them just as well as anyone else. Or, he hoped so.

Not bothering to take out his wand, Merlin raised a hand toward Tom's briefcase, muttering a quiet word to lift it gently into his hand.

"Come on," he said quietly, "Let's go home."

 _~4th August 1940..._

Tom often wondered what it was Mo did whilst he was at Hogwarts. His guardian had told him that he'd had "all sorts of jobs" over the years, and that he often worked as an ancient runes translator, though he was doing a bit of his own research at the moment. When Tom had asked what that research was, Mo had just brushed it off with a vague reply.

This evening he'd popped out for a few hours on "business" to pick up some new books to translate. Often Tom wasn't sure what to believe with Mo. This was one of the things he definitely didn't. But Mo wouldn't be out long, he knew that. There had been a sense of urgency in his guardian's eyes as he left, but it would always be overridden by Mo's strange urge to stick to Tom like glue.

So the man had appeared from his study with a large satchel and then promptly disappeared into the early evening.

His suspicions about Mo's study had been planted ever since it had been declared out of bounds. That was over two years ago now. Still, the Riddle boy hadn't glimpsed any of its contents, and Mo rarely disappeared in there whilst he was home from Hogwarts. Mo's secrets were always going to plague the back of his mind, but now Tom had something of his own to focus on. And that was far more alluring.

Discovering his heritage had been a long time coming, and every time he found his thoughts turn to it he was filled with a sense of pride, and inevitability, as if this was meant to be. Gleefully, he closed his eyes and turned the idea over in his head once more. Just to be sure he'd taken it in.

He, Tom Riddle, was a descendant of one of the greatest wizards to live. The founder of his very house. The most famous Parseltongue in history. And a wizard whom, like Tom, had been wrongly rejected by those around him.

Even Mo had admitted that he thought Salazar Slytherin had been wrongly judged. His book from the restricted section had made clear of this in his mind. It had contained all sorts of mysteries of the castle, but had talked at length of the Chamber of Secrets. Why would Slytherin build such a place if not to protect Hogwarts? muggle-borns nowadays were insignificant, and Tom believed they could truly come to nothing, despite what Mo preached. But in the days of the founders they had been a threat to the safety of the other students at the school. So what if a few wizards were denied entry? It kept the rest of Hogwarts from being betrayed to the hatred of the muggle-born's families. He understood Salazar had adapted to the threats of the time by any means necessary, as any shrewd Slytherin would.

When the other founders had not listened to this, it was only natural for his ancestor to take matters in to his own hands, Tom thought. To make sure of his legacy. To create the Chamber as a warning for those who challenged him, and in the future perhaps to be a reminder that he was _right_.

If only Tom could find it!

After all, who could betray him if he commanded a basilisk?

Tom's relationship with snakes had always felt natural to him. It had been the invaluable final piece of the puzzle in discovering his heritage, along with his mother's name of Gaunt. He'd also sensed, even in the wizarding world, that it was something worth keeping up his sleeve, and he hadn't told a soul. He wanted to keep it under wraps especially now, after everything he had discovered. If he could locate the chamber of secrets, a wealth of power lay at his fingertips, and he'd rather no one know that until he'd found it. The book had said the basilisk was only rumour, but rumour was most of what he had to go on so far, and he couldn't help but relish the idea.

He'd returned his borrowed tome to the restricted section just before the beginning of the summer, and after all it had taught him about Hogwarts... he was certain he would have to make a visit to that part of the library again. Just the thought of what other knowledge could await him kept him buzzing with excitement, but he forced himself from becoming impatient. Perhaps he could still continue his research over the summer, even if he couldn't be at Hogwarts.

His task now was to try and find out more about Salazar's work. He felt that the Chamber of Secrets was vital to this, though he still had some misgivings. Tom had heard the spiel from the Gryffindors about Slytherin's hatred of muggle-borns, and he himself failed to be inspired by this motive. Personally, muggle-borns had no bearing on his life. Even Mo had once hinted he felt Salazar had been more complex than this one idea, and for some reason this compelled Tom further to find another way to restore his family's honour. Whatever he was to pursue, he wanted to peruse with certainty. He himself would have to create a new reputation.

So if not to continue Salazar's mysterious motives, what path would he take to fulfill his destiny?

He'd studied his vision down to each minute detail he remembered, but there had been nothing revealed about what exactly he would do to rise to power. He'd read about pensives, and the idea of being able to view his vision again was very tempting. Perhaps Mo had one of those in his study?

When he returned to Hogwarts he could also pry into Slughorn. Dumbledore, whom he'd already asked about the Chamber, hadn't seemed keen to divulge anything on the topic. Slughorn, however, was an old fool, and Tom had come to like him for it. He was soft and harmless, but Tom had to credit his vast knowledge outside of the curriculum. All he had to do was play the professor's little Slug-club game, and the man would spill almost anything to him. He was the only person who would be remotely interested in helping Tom. Mo, even, had made it clear he didn't want Tom looking in to the Chamber. In fact, he had seemed scared of the idea, almost. Tom tried to tell himself that Mo's disapproval had not wounded him. He shoved any such thoughts firmly aside.

Aside from the Chamber, Tom wondered what else he could discover working alone- as in solitude it seemed his research would remain.

In his readings he'd come to realise that greatness seemed cyclical. Whatever rose- be it Camelot, or Hogwarts, or even various dark wizards of the ages- always fell in the end. Tom had thought long and hard about how this could be avoided. If he wanted to make a permanent stamp on the earth, and to ensure his legacy would live on, he'd have to be just that. _Permanent_.

The idea of death didn't suit him much. The cycle of life, he was almost certain was unbreakable. He told himself time and time again to pull his focus back to the present, but he just couldn't help the allure. What _if_ he could create something that could last forever?

Again, the legends of Merlin stuck out in his mind. Why was it that those stories, and that man, had been immortalised? Camelot had fallen anyway, but it seemed to live on in memory. If Merlin had lived forever, would the great city have survived too?

Somehow, Tom didn't think even the Hogwarts library could answer these questions, and he wasn't sure when he'd next be able to steal into the restricted section- he couldn't repeat the Avery incident again, as it would look too suspicious.

So his eyes had begun to wander over to a certain locked door once more. What would Mo's study have lurking within?

The problem, of course, lay always with how to get in to these places. Tom cursed the running theme. One day he wouldn't have to do all this sneaking around. One day he'd be respected, and no one would bar him from the world's knowledge.

Mo would say that it was true some information had to remain protected, lest it enter the wrong hands, but Mo's word was hardly something Tom respected any more. Or at least he told himself he shouldn't.

If he could get into Mo's study, he could get one back on his guardian, for lack of a better phrase. Mo had held secrets that weren't his to keep, so Tom would ignore the rules that had been set in place. Mo didn't have to find out, but in Tom's mind it would put them at evens. An eye for an eye. A truth for a poke-around in Mo's privacy. Then, maybe, Tom wouldn't feel so frustrated when he found himself wanting to trust that man again and again.

Tom thought back to their conversation on the platform. Mo had seemed genuinely remorseful about withholding Tom's heritage from him. The man had admitted almost sheepishly to being too scared to tell him. Mo was always unnecessarily scared, and perhaps it was a good thing that he was of Tom, but the young Riddle boy struggled to fully convince himself of this.

Tom stilled his thoughts, resolved. Whether Mo was sorry for what he'd done or not shouldn't matter to him. He had been betrayed by the only man he thought he might be able to trust. He'd looked up to Mo, almost. Not like he did the founders or other great wizards of the past, but in a way he'd never understood. He had wanted Mo's approval, but no more. Now his guardian had shown his true colours. That he was happy to keep Tom from the very knowledge he sought most. That he was happy to keep Tom from who _he was_.

That, surely, Tom couldn't forgive. That, surely, warranted what he was about to try and do...

Merlin hadn't been back to the lake in a while. He did his best to keep away from the glittering waters and soft, long grass... but something always drew him back.

Or rather, _someone_.

The urge he'd had to visit this place had begun at the start of the summer, and he'd known it wouldn't be long before he gave in.

The old Warlock made his way slowly toward the edge of the corpse of trees, he caught flashes of evening sunlight reflecting through the undergrowth from the lake beyond, and he paused by a gnarled oak with thick bark to place his satchel down in a familiar hollow. The magic here slowed the natural changes in the landscape, and Merlin had always found things seemed the same as before. As if Avalon formed a protective sphere around where Arthur rested.

Merlin lent against the oak, an arm around the thick trunk as he gripped the tree for support. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to be drawn back.

There, ahead of him, was the stretch of grass where the great dragon had laid the limp King down gently, and told Merlin that Arthur would rise again. Merlin wasn't even sure he believed it any more. Perhaps the dragon had sought to bring him some sort of reassurance, or purpose to the long years he would soon face alone.

Merlin felt a pang of despair within him as he thought of the world that had died along with his best friend. That same pain he had felt letting the boat with Arthur's body out on to the lake rose up within him. It had lost its harsh potency, dulled by the years, but it still stung.

Could he even be sure it had been real? So much time had passed. It was impossible for Merlin to comprehend sometimes just how long he had spent on this earth. Camelot had slipped from all memory save a few legends, which no one wholly believed. Merlin was the only proof that world had existed, though if he met his younger self, he doubted if they'd even recognise each other. Time could change any man.

He began to make his way forward again with an instinctive caution. Soon he emerged from the trees before that god-forsaken lake where Avalon lay.

This place brought so much pain... but he _needed_ her.

In a trance, Merlin found himself beside the shore, water lapping at the hem of his clothes.

"Freya." He croaked quietly, but he hardly needed to say a word. Already the water before him had begun to glow lightly and swirl. From the deep blue came a golden light that gently pulsed, its ethereal nature blinding Merlin's senses for a moment as waves of magic washed over him. The figure of a young woman rose from the glow.

" _Merlin_."

Merlin smiled, it felt calming to hear his name. His _real_ name.

He looked up at Freya, his breath taken away, as it always was. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful. He couldn't help but wonder how he still deserved her: he a crumpled and foolish old man, and she the goddess and guardian of all he held dear.

"What troubles you?" She said, reaching out her hand slightly, instinctively sensing his purpose here.

For a while merlin didn't answer, he took a moment to sit down in the long grass on the lakeshore, and tuck his knees up to his chest against the cold. He breathed in the cool air coming off the water, and gazed up at Freya's soft features. Water clung to her clothes and her eyelashes, and her eyes seemed to sparkle despite the evening darkness. He looked at her, and he felt warm inside.

"I've intervened with the world again," he said after a while, "I know I don't often, and it always brings me pain in the end... but I feel this time it is important."

Freya drew closer to him as he spoke, though there always remained that gaping distance between them. She could not leave the lake to hold his hand, he could not embrace her as he so longed to do. The Old Religion was cruel in barring him from Avalon. This lakeshore was as close to the veil between the worlds as his immortal soul could reach.

"Then I trust it is important." Freya reassured earnestly.

"I'm not sure what to do, Freya. I don't want to make another mistake." Merlin stared up at the darkening sky above him, the stars only just beginning to blink through the clouds. And he began to explain to the Lady of the Lake all that had happened in the last few years. All the time he had spent trying to build a bond with this boy whom everyone swore might destroy all the peace in the world. The fact that Tom was so very clever, and how much the Warlock felt the burden of needing to stay alert, and be so careful with everything he said. The fact that he was at a loss of what to do anymore: he couldn't risk revealing his identity to Tom, but the more he kept from the boy the more their relationship fractured. However, he stressed the care he harboured for Tom Riddle, and the potential for good he saw within him.

"I keep things from him because I fear what he might do with the information, but then the very fact that I withhold the truth is what drives us apart!" Merlin rested his forehead on his knees a moment in despair, though it was a comfort to finally share this with someone.

"You're brave, Merlin," Freya said softly, surprising the old Warlock before her, "Any other man in your place would choose to keep a firm distance from the present world, but you cannot help but see the good you can still accomplish in it."

"That would all be great, if I was actually _good_ at doing any good."

"That's partly true," Freya replied frankly, "You may need some help."

"But I don't want to involve anyone more than I already have done. It's not fair to drag them in to this." Merlin countered, though he knew Freya was right. Martha was a companion, but he didn't want to put her at risk by becoming too involved, and he still didn't know if he could trust Dumbledore whole-heartedly.

"From what you've told me of Martha, it seems she's made it clear she wants to be a part of this. You have to let her. And Dumbledore too. You've got allies in more places than you think." Freya locked Merlin with a firm gaze, and he imagined her cupping his face in earnest.

"You're not alone, Merlin."

Merlin tried to believe her.

Freya paused a moment as she formulated what she wanted to say.

"You're worried about Tom finding out about you, so ask yourself this. Why is it he can't know who you truly are?"

Freya allowed Merlin to think over this a while in silence. It was a fair question. He'd spent so many hours fretting over hiding his true identity from Tom, that he'd almost forgotten why it was he did.

"Because _no one_ knows who I truly am," He eventually let out, "I sometimes wonder if I do anymore. Tom wants to be a great wizard- what if he found out about the man I used to be, and used my backing for terrible deeds? I don't think I could cope with the pedestal he might put me up on- the way he reacted when I told him about my wandless abilities... he seemed to pity me for not using them to gain power. That isn't me, Freya. It twists my stomach just to think about." Merlin paused, ripping up a fistful of grass from beside him as he told Freya all that was frustrating him.

"Not only that," he began again, "I can't risk word getting out to the wizarding world that I exist. I'm not the Merlin that they have all heard the legends of. Even that Merlin of the past was not a leader, and I am a lesser man than him. After enduring all these years, I am changed. When people talk of Emrys I feel totally disconnected. To reveal to someone who I truly am would still feel like a lie in the end, because I haven't lived as that man for a very, very long time."

Merlin looked back at Freya, his eyes had wandered into the distance with his outpouring. It felt calming to share, but the weight of his worries were beginning to sink down upon him. He found that the Lady of the Lake seemed angered by his words.

"You are that man still, Merlin. _My_ Merlin. No lesser. Have you not always said to me that whilst you live with many different names, you hope that who you are is always the same? Maybe the past is painful to remember, but to forsake it is to deny a part of yourself. It is to say you feel disconnected from me."

Freya was right. She was a part of that world, perhaps the only part Merlin still had a connection to. But Freya still felt at a distance from him, and when he looked into her eyes he could see that she knew this all too well.

"I don't remember the past, Freya. It haunts me." Merlin said dejectedly.

Freya spoke again, and this time her voice was thick with emotion.

"The past should never haunt you Merlin. Let it guide you. If you don't want Tom to know you by your true name, that's okay, but don't be afraid to go to him. Ask him what it is he wants to know."

"If there's one thing I've learnt from my past," Merlin began quietly, "it's not to push away those close to me."

"You should go to him before you lose him."

Merlin nodded, "I know."

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

"I'm glad you came." Freya said after a time. She was kneeled now in the shallow water, which rose up to her torso and still held a residual glow. Merlin couldn't help but smile whenever he caught her gaze.

"Sorry it's been so long. This place is..." Merlin trailed off.

"It's bittersweet." Freya murmured, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

"Yeah."

They sat together for a long while in silence. Sometimes, when Merlin brought himself to visit they would talk long in to the night. Sometimes, when there was nothing more to be said, the two of them would simply take comfort in each other's presence.

Merlin would wonder, in these moments, of the life he might have had with Freya, when they conspired to run away together all those years ago. Arthur would have died far earlier, that was for sure. Though, perhaps the chains of destiny would have been somehow broken, and deadly encounters would have ceased to follow the Prince wherever he went. Maybe.

Finally, once the evening had faded into night, Merlin drew himself up from the grass, his limbs stiff and his trousers and coat damp.

Freya laughed lightly at the state of him, but she betrayed a sadness in her gaze. He was leaving again.

The old Warlock began to make his way from the shore. If he turned to say goodbye, he'd only be compelled to stay longer. However, Freya called to him from the swirling waters as she too began to retreat.

"One day you will join me," She said, "there is a reason you have been made to wander the earth for so long. Perhaps it is to wait for Arthur's return, or perhaps it is to help this boy, but there is more good for you to do in this world, and one day you will be at peace."

Merlin paused a moment to close his eyes and take one last breath of the clear, fresh air. His magic hummed with the ancient earth around him as Freya spoke, telling him to believe her. He willed it to be true, but now he had to return to the task at hand.

He didn't look back as he made his way back into the trees, picking up his satchel and disappearing into the night.

The old Warlock was anxious to get home, and no more than an hour later, (after walking a couple of miles from the Lake of Avalon as he never felt comfortable transporting in such a sacred place), he had arrived back in London.

He ran through the conversation he hoped he could have with Tom. Maybe they would sit down with hot cocoa, or he would make up some food and they could just... talk. Of course it was never that simple with Tom, but he hoped to change foot with the boy regardless. He was filled with motivation.

He'd made sure to weigh his satchel down with the "books" he had told Tom he was going out to collect from a merchant in the area, and he hoped Tom wouldn't further question the nature of his outing. He didn't like leaving Tom on his own in the house, but he knew he'd be able to sense if something went wrong whilst he was gone.

And that was similar to what he sensed now as he rounded the corner on Pennethorne road. His rhythmic gait faltered for a moment as he took notice that something was _off_.

Nothing was glaringly wrong, such that he would have picked up on it from further afield, but all was not right either.

The old Warlock paused at the gate and sent out tendrils of his magic to probe the enchantments on the house. Nothing had damaged them, but a tiny sensation hit Merlin like a rock as he realised that something was definitely up.

Someone, albeit unsuccessfully, was _prodding_ one of his wards.

Merlin raced up to the front door now, but he stilled himself before entering the house. His heart hammered in his chest and threatened to give up his presence, but he forced a small amount of cushioning magic into his motions and footfalls so that he moved without a sound. He slotted the door key silently into the lock, praying all the while that this wasn't what he thought it was.

Moments later, Merlin stood on the doormat just inside the hallway, taking in the sight before him with a torrent of emotions.

Tom was pressed up against the door to Merlin's study. One palm was splayed against the wood and Merlin saw the boy's slender, pale wand inserted into the keyhole. He recognised that Tom was trying to replicate the few times he may have seen Merlin enter his study. He used his palm to press a small pulse of magic into the door, which upon recognising the Warlock's magical signature, would allow him to unlock the door with his wand.

Despite Merlin being fully aware Tom could make no dent in the protective wards, his whole body felt heavy with dread and he was frozen solid in the hallway as he stared at the young boy whom he had thought he could trust. Tom, transfixed with concentration, had not noticed him come in.

Merlin let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes a moment and trying to keep his posture from crumpling under the sense of despair that rose up within him.

 _He was too late._

"Tom..." He said so quietly he wondered if the boy would even hear. But Tom heard. He seemed to freeze, his back still turned toward the study door, the unspoken message received loud and clear.

 _Just what do you think you're doing?_ Merlin's tone seemed to say.

Merlin struggled to find any anger within himself as he paced through the deathly silence towards the young boy who now glared at the floor, wand clutched in his fist at his side. Instead of rage, Merlin felt only a cold disappointment descend on him that was both directed at Tom, and himself.

He was stood directly over the Riddle boy now, in a way that would have been menacing if it was not for the old Warlock's pained expression and dejected posture.

"I guess I can't rightly tell you off for this one." He said, though it took a few moments before he found his voice. Merlin couldn't wholly blame Tom, as it was his lies and his lack of trust that had lead the boy to this.

"How did you...?" Tom murmured, still unable to look his guardian in the eyes, as he no doubt wondered how Merlin had managed to sneak up on him like that and catch him so red-handed. Part of Merlin wished he hadn't, and that he was still oblivious to the event that was staring him right in the face. Tom looked... guilty.

There was a heavy, drawn out silence. Merlin and Tom were often happy to endure long silences in each other's company, but this felt different. Neither of them were remotely comfortable. Left to their thoughts, they waited for the other to speak. Merlin, finally, opened his mouth.

"I have to say I'm a little surprised," He said almost to himself, "I did think you smarter than this."

"What do you mean?" Tom replied accusingly, for a moment forgetting the situation at the question of his intelligence.

"You aren't normally this brash, Tom. You'd think a plot like this one through." Merlin paced away from Tom further into the living room, thinking aloud to fill the silence. He spun back round to face the boy before he finished.

"You must have been pretty angry to act out like this."

"So what if I was?" Tom countered immediately, and this time the boy could meet Merlin's eyes. The anger that the Riddle boy found security in had returned; it could only be outmatched by his flickering shock and guilt for so long before it retook control.

"Well then we address that right now," Merlin replied decisively, "I can't let anything like this come between us again. Not an outburst, not an attempted break-in..." Merlin found himself giving a small laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I need to stop being a coward," he said, watching Tom's eyes widen with curiosity as he spoke, "because I can't lose you like this. Whatever it is you need, let me hear it. Let me answer."

Merlin sat down in his arm chair, gesturing to Tom to sit opposite him. The slightly dumbfounded Riddle boy made his way cautiously over, his hand never relaxing its grip on his wand despite him not being allowed to use it. But Merlin ignored this, he knew for certain that this was what needed to be done. He'd listen to Freya's advice this time.

"At King's Cross I was wrong," Merlin admitted, "I'm disappointed in you, believe me, but I know I'm partly to blame for leading you to this."

Tom scoffed quietly, looking around himself and shaking his head with a hidden irony.

"Here we are," he said eventually, "on _your_ terms."

"I know." Merlin replied quietly, knowing the boy was referencing their conversation earlier that summer, but he kept his expression neutral. It stung to know that Tom had picked up on one of his weaknesses like this. He was an old man, with a great many burdens, he couldn't handle people springing things on him so unexpectedly. At least, in a way, he had dreaded this situation was to come.

"Tell me about when you went to Hogwarts." Tom blurted out suddenly.

Merlin peered across at him, "Why do you ask that?"

"Because! I just want to feel like I know something about you. Do you have any idea what it's like to have to live with someone who is a mystery to you?" Tom's expression flickered with hurt for a moment, before he seemed to reel himself back in. As if the truth of the matter had tumbled out on accident.

Merlin paused a moment to collect his thoughts, wondering how he could go about this. Having never been to Hogwarts as a student, he couldn't really answer this question, but he could certainly draw on similar experiences.

"I was sorted in to Slytherin." He said eventually, and Tom's jaw almost dropped.

"Though," he continued, "I spent most of my time with the Hufflepuffs. I had a lot more in common with them on face-value and I appreciated their diligence and kindness." Merlin thought of his first friend in Camelot, Gwen, the only person in the city to think of showing kindness to the village idiot in the stocks.

"The other Slytherins didn't see it at first, and neither did I, to be honest. However, in the past I definitely had an ambition underneath the surface. I saw a great future in the people around me, and I'd do anything to help create that." He said, wondering if he was being a little too metaphorical. He may never have had great ambitions for himself, but he certainly did for his friends, and for Arthur and Albion. He remembered the conviction with which he had always spoken to other sorcerers as he declared that one day, it wouldn't be like this. One day, they would be free. And he had been right, even if not in the way he had always dreamt of. As far as Slytherin cunning went, back in Camelot Merlin had harboured the quality by the bucket-load, even if he was a little brazen at times in his youth.

"I was terrible at Quidditch, but more gifted at Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. I was a bit of a nobody as far as alumnae go, but I like to think I worked behind the scenes there. I certainly knew how to sneak around the castle." Merlin said fondly, remembering his countless late night trips from Camelot. Tom seemed to prick up his ears at this prospect, and delved further.

"Sneaking around? As in, you broke the rules?"

"Believe me," Merlin said with his eyebrows raised, "I broke a fair few." His very existence had broken the first rule of Camelot.

Sensing Merlin was not going to expand on _what_ rules he had broken, Tom pressed again.

"I've heard there are lots of secret rooms at Hogwarts, did you ever find any?" The question appeared innocent and measured, but as Merlin began to rack his brains for any memories of his brief visits to Hogwarts, it dawned on him what Tom could be asking about.

The Chamber of Secrets.

What could he say? Merlin knew he couldn't just brush it off this time, And it wasn't like he knew where the Chamber was. At the time of the founders, rumours had been rife following Salazar Slytherin leaving Hogwarts. Most of the tales of monsters planted within the school walls had been nothing more than that. Tales. Whether Salazar had indeed left a creature behind... Merlin was unsure. From what he could remember, the founders had scoured the castle for any signs of such a thing, and come up empty. There had been speculations that Salazar must have protected whatever legacy he had left at Hogwarts with Parseltongue, and that was why the other founders couldn't find it. His knowledge of the legends mostly ended there. People proposed all sorts of serpentine beasts, but there had been no conclusive evidence to say Slytherin had planted one. However, this had done nothing to lift the heavy cloud under which Salazar had left the school all those years ago.

Tom sat expectantly opposite him as he thought, perhaps unaware that Merlin knew of his research into the Chamber.

"Why do you ask? Are you looking for somewhere?" Merlin asked, buying time.

"I thought I was allowed to ask the questions." Tom frowned.

"I think you're forgetting that I've just caught you breaking one of the only rules I've ever set you. Everyone deserves their privacy, Tom, and whilst I may not have told you about Slytherin, I don't think that equates to you attempting to break in to my study."

Tom clearly thought about this, though Merlin didn't expect to shake off much of the boy's anger with his reasoning. Merlin felt betrayed, but no doubt Tom did too. Maybe the playing field was level now.

"So that's where the answers are, then." Tom said, gesturing to the stoic, locked door at the back of the house, "Why you are as secretive as you are?"

Merlin didn't reply. He'd considered it long and hard, but there were some things about himself that Tom could never know.

"You're planning to go after the Chamber of Secrets, aren't you." Merlin said frankly. It wasn't a question.

He saw Tom stiffen and try to bury his expression, but Merlin saw through him.

"There isn't any point denying it, Tom." He added.

He'd worried what Tom would do if he found the Chamber on his own, and to what ends the boy would use it for, but the thought now struck Merlin that he could avoid that. Telling Tom he shouldn't try to trace Salazar's legacy would do nothing to deter they boy at this point, and would only make him more secretive with Merlin. But if he were to agree... Merlin might be able to guide Tom through his discoveries in the right way. Maybe, he really could restore the name of Slytherin that had been shrouded in darkness for so long. Maybe it would be a good thing for Tom to apply himself to.

"They say it's Slytherin's legacy in physical form," Tom said at last, giving in to Merlin's penetrating gaze, "Surely it's my duty to find it?" Now he wasn't having to skirt around the topic, the Riddle boy was filled with vigour as he spoke. However, as he finished there was a hint of apprehension in his tone, and Merlin eyed the frustration that flickered across Tom's face at this. He wanted Merlin's approval... but he wished he didn't.

"Is that why you were trying to break in to my study?"

After a pause, Tom nodded.

"I thought you might have some information. I haven't heard a thing about it besides a few legends." The boy spoke a half truth. Merlin knew from Dumbledore that Tom's research was more extensive than he was letting on, and the Warlock also suspected information was not the only reason for Tom attempting to break in to his study. If the boy had not felt angry or betrayed, he would never have acted in the way he did. He just didn't want to admit these motivations to Merlin, or perhaps even to himself. Emotion was something he was often ashamed of.

"You never thought to ask me first? To see if I had anything that could help you?"

Tom looked up at this, from where he had been staring intensely at his interlocked hands resting in his lap. He seemed startled, almost.

"You'd help me?" Tom replied, incredulously. He raised an eyebrow at Merlin in disbelief.

"You say you want to restore your ancestor's honour. I believe you. I see what this means to you, and I don't want it to drive us apart."

Tom was silent. He seemed unsure how to react.

"What is it?"

"I thought you'd disapprove." Tom replied.

"Not everyone is working against you, you know that?" Merlin said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. Tom was used to having to shun those around him, so much that he could no longer realise when someone had his best interests at heart. And that was exactly what Merlin had.

His talk with Freya had made him realise he needed to show that more, unless he wanted to lose Tom forever. Nevertheless, he wondered what he'd just got himself into.

At Merlin's words, Tom rolled his eyes with little mirth.

"Are you sure this isn't some sort of surveillance scheme?" He asked, still eyeing Merlin with some guarded suspicion.

Merlin shook his head, his demeanour growing serious. Dumbledore would certainly see it that way, but for Merlin, he wanted to help Tom with this because he could see what it meant to the boy. It was true that Merlin wanted to make sure he didn't stray down the wrong path, but he also just wanted to see Tom happy. It had been a while since he'd had that privilege.

"Certain." He replied, and no one could mistake the earnest with which he spoke.

Tom sat back, seemingly satisfied by this, if not still a little perplexed. As if he truly was finding it difficult to comprehend that Merlin wanted to help.

"I'll have a look in my study later," Merlin spoke again, "If I find anything, you'll be the first to know. There's all sorts hidden in ancient runes." The warlock doubted he could cough up much on the Chamber, but perhaps he could find a few more things on the founders.

Tom just nodded silently to this, but his eagerness was plain to see.

Finally, sensing the atmosphere relax, Merlin had one last question for Tom.

"How did you realise then, in the end?"

He hardly needed to specify what he was referring to. Tom looked for a moment as if he wasn't going to reply, but after some consideration, he spoke.

"I can speak to snakes."

Oh. Merlin thought, his head reeling at how obvious this should have been, and what a foreboding quality the simple statement carried with it. He was relieved at Tom's honesty, but couldn't help but wonder again: _what have I got myself into?_

 _Hullo!_

 _Whilst I tried to keep this chapter from becoming another character deep dive, there are still some remnants from the many tangents I've been on whilst writing this. More action next chapter._

 _Also, a note to say you can now check my profile for updates on upcoming chapters._

 _Yours, Hedge_


	9. Chapter 9: The Gaunt House

The Gaunts

 _Hi all, back to the usual upload 'schedule', if I can call it that. I try to get a chapter up every couple of months. More action this time, I hope I've done it justice. Thanks again everyone for your follows, favourites and reviews.||_

 _To Mr Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore,_

 _Tom knows._

 _It appears you were right that his research would lead him to this conclusion, however, I urge you that I have spoken to Tom, and he does not seem interested in Salazar's rumoured work against muggles. He is simply a child who wants to know where he came from._

 _To prevent him from becoming secretive and distancing himself from me whilst he continues to research, I have offered to help. Rest assured I will prevent him from gaining access to potentially dangerous information, and I imagine you will do the same at Hogwarts._

 _I ask you to remain cautious, but kind._

 _Regards,_

 _Mortimer A. Thomas_

 _~18th July 1941..._

Merlin could hardly believed how much time had passed. He looked up from his plate at the boy who sat across from him. Tom leafed through a book between mouthfuls of his own dinner, a small frown on his face.

His childish features were beginning to fade away, or maybe that was just Merlin overanalysing. In all this time he'd grown a few inches, filled out a little more... the old Warlock was watching Tom mature before his very eyes. That child who had stepped over the threshold of his home years ago was a world away from the person in front of him now. Progress had been slow, but progress had been made.

Tom Riddle's third year at Hogwarts had been interesting. In the holidays together they had launched into research on the Chamber of Secrets. It reminded Merlin of all the long nights he had spent pouring over books with Gaius. Whilst Merlin often did research on his own, it was nice to hit the shelves with a companion again. He wasn't sure sometimes why he entertained the activity, but no matter the fruitless hours of finding nothing, he'd always look over to Tom and be rejuvenated by what he saw. The Riddle boy was engaged, and he was happy. He had found purpose.

Merlin had come to realise that the ordinary workload at Hogwarts did not offer Tom enough of a challenge these days. Apparently, whilst at school, Professor Slughorn worked with him outside of lessons to try and extend his studies, and it seemed they had formed a bond. Dumbledore too had backed up this in his occasional letters, pointing out that it was a wise way to keep an eye on Tom. What Merlin had gleamed, however, from the way Tom spoke of the cushy potions master, was that he could be easily manipulated. Tom kept Slughorn around because the man was the key to what he sought: knowledge. That could still be a dangerous thing if left untapped.

A few weeks before his return, Tom had sent a letter asking if Merlin had any books on the sacred twenty eight, the group of wizarding families in Britain believed to still be pure blooded. It made Merlin sick to even think of the idea, but Tom had a fair point in trying to trace the involvement of such wizards with the Chamber over the years. There had been hints that members of the Gaunt family had helped to conceal the Chamber many years ago. Tom had latched eagerly onto this idea, his family history linking in to his mission was just further proof of destiny.

Tom leafed through one such record now. It listed little but names and dates, but the boy scanned thoroughly all the same. No doubt the ancestors of his fellow classmates were listed in the pages, and Merlin wondered what ideas of blood purity they had instilled in Tom. Tom remained nonchalant of muggles, though perhaps only because he knew he'd get a lecture from Merlin if he said otherwise. He didn't like the idea of Tom hiding his motives, but he resolved himself to just be grateful for their close relationship at the moment all the same.

Merlin was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of Tom slapping his book shut with a sigh, and chewing angrily on his potatoes.

"Anything?" Merlin queried, though he knew the answer.

"Nothing useful. But the records trace my uncle as the end of the line." Tom huffed, though he frowned a little in confusion.

"No mention of your mother?" Merlin knew there was none. When he had first traced Tom's heritage before adopting him, he'd suspected Merope had been left out for marrying a muggle.

Tom shook his head, looking thoughtfully down at his plate.

"I'm tired of this," he said eventually, "I just want to know where I came from. Is that so much to ask?" He glared accusingly at the book.

"I know. I'm doing my best," Merlin replied, "And there's still a few more books I found whilst you were at school." He tried to sound reassuring.

"If I don't find the Chamber..." Tom said, trailing.

"The Chamber of Secrets isn't the be-all and end-all you know."

"It might as well be." Tom grumbled in response, stabbing his fork aimlessly into some broccoli.

"You've always talked of proving everyone wrong," Merlin said, "That you don't need a bloodline to do great things. That you can start anew."

"Things changed." Tom glanced up at Merlin, who raised his eyebrows to say he wanted more of an explanation.

"I just want something to build off of. My history is so fragmented, no one will take me seriously without backing."

"Is this what your classmates have told you? I think you're an exceptional wizard."

Tom let out a quiet laugh that held little humour, "Maybe you see that, Mo, but no one else will. I know I can do great things, and I see this as my platform."

"You be mindful though, Tom. Don't be tempted to use your heritage to justify or excuse any of your actions." Merlin warned, more seriously this time. Tom recognised his shift in tone all too well, and he just nodded in reply.

Merlin narrowed his eyes a moment, his appetite lost at the unconvincing response. He told himself that there was still time for him meld Tom further, so that when the time came and the boy did gain power, it would be for good cause. Maybe Tom didn't truly believe in pure-blood ideals, but he still believed he couldn't succeed without them.

 _~12th August, 1941..._

It was early morning on Pennethorne road. Merlin didn't particularly need to be up so soon after the sun on a Saturday, but he liked to send Tom off on his paper-round with a sandwich. Or maybe he was just a little clingy.

He wondered sometimes why the boy kept the job. He cared little for muggle news at any rate, and though Merlin did convert his earnings in to wizard currency, there was little else in it for him. He had asked once, and Tom had simply replied that he liked the routine.

Merlin paused from his musings to pick an apple out of the fruit bowl on his way out of the kitchen. In the corridor, he was met with Tom tying his shoelaces with a thoughtful expression. He seemed... more guarded today than usual. More internally focused.

The pale boy took the simple breakfast from Merlin with a routine nonchalance, and when Merlin smiled at him the Riddle boy ignored it.

He was a teenager, after all. It was probably just one of those days. Merlin noticed again how much Tom had grown- they were both lanky enough in frame that a stranger might think they were genuinely related. The old Warlock liked that thought.

"See you later," Tom murmured monotonously, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and heading toward the front door. He flicked open the latch with one hand, taking his cap off the hook with the other and was swiftly gone from the house.

It took a moment or two for Merlin to realise something was off.

Tom had already been wearing his coat, and it had made a little chinking sound as he moved. Merlin knew a few things for a fact: Tom didn't wear his coat often, because he didn't get cold and in his pocket there had unmistakably been coins.

A burst of urgency erupted within the old Warlock, and his heartbeat began to accelerate. He made his way toward the door. Hoping there was nothing to worry about, he had the intention to see the Riddle boy off down the street this morning, just to be sure.

All of a sudden magic compressed the air. Merlin furrowed his brow, passing quickly back into the living room and peering through the blinds.

An indigo bus had just materialised at the end of the road. It was many stories high, but so narrow that it appeared to teeter on the edge of its balance, even as the engine cut out.

The Knight bus. Merlin avoided the jolty and rickety vehicle with a passion.

The front opened with a hiss that was muffled through the window, and the distant figure of Tom stepped calmly aboard, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a tiny moment Merlin contemplated whether or not to follow. But, as it had always been since the days of Camelot, he couldn't resist. Following suspicious characters was almost like his special talent. And in this case, it was wise he should follow.

Tom was going behind his back again, only this time, it was planned. Meticulously so, and Merlin might have fallen for it if Tom hadn't underestimated just how well the old Warlock knew him. Always that was the boy's weakness: he assumed no one cared for him.

That, and the boy couldn't know how chaotic and _loud_ the magic of that damned bus was.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Merlin immediately began to plan his route. To avoid suspicion, he would have to board the bus elsewhere. And he'd need to avoid any eyes falling on him.

With a deep breath Merlin summoned his magic. He enjoyed the moment of calmness in its wake, as the cacophony of noise from the Knight bus lurching away from the street faded into the background. He didn't bother with the incantation this time, since he knew he was travelling close by, and he closed his eyes calmly as he disappeared in a swirling wind.

He materialised moments later in an alleyway in Westminster, unnoticed by the world around him. He knew all the places where he could pass under the radar, but he would have to make absolutely certain of his inconspicuousness.

" _Tóstrédan wórung eáhum mé fram_."*

Satisfied now that any eyes would be drawn away from him, Merlin exited the alleyway and held a thumb out into the street. Commuters bustled to and fro, but no one saw the dark haired man clamber onto the bright purple bus and disappear from sight.

Merlin pulled his cap down over his face despite his enchantment. He thanked himself for not having eaten anything this morning, or it would certainly have come straight back up again.

His stomach churned with anxiety as he took a seat at the very back of the bus, passing with baited breath an intense looking Tom Riddle. He released this breath when Tom didn't notice him, though the irrational fear that his spell might not be working filled him with unease. His mind whirred endlessly with where Tom might be headed, but by his mode of transport the old Warlock could guess it was far enough away.

He'd thought the two of them had been on good terms lately, and now this?

Whatever Tom was up to, Merlin thought as he tried not to stare at the boy sitting three seats ahead of him, it was something Merlin wouldn't approve of.

The bus lurched beneath him once again and Merlin fought to keep his magic from clashing violently with that of the vehicle. The old man within him burst fourth with an internal grumble about how ridiculous modern wizarding transport was, and how much simpler it was just to get on the back of a horse.

He almost didn't notice that the bus had ground to a halt, and Tom was standing up stiffly in front of him, clearly a little nauseous from the journey as well. Merlin forced himself to wait a few seconds before following after the boy, stepping from the offensive vehicle onto a simple lane, banked with hedgerows and trees.

"Little Hangleton," the driver declared as Merlin passed, and the name wrung a distant, but persistent bell.

The lane itself was devoid of notable features. It was simply that: a lane.

Merlin allowed his concealment charm to melt away from him. It only worked properly in crowds, anyway, and Tom was certainly alone as Merlin eyed him roughly ten metres in front. The boy walked with such focus and purpose that Merlin barely paused before following.

Whatever his destination, it was clear that they were nearly there.

The speck ahead of him that was Tom Riddle suddenly veered off the narrow road, and Merlin quickened his pace so as not to lose him.

Even without the enchantment, Tom probably wouldn't have noticed Merlin's pursuit- he was so focused on his destination that nothing could sway him. The sense of foreboding steadily rose as Merlin realised just how important this unknown journey was to the boy.

The old Warlock rounded the corner behind Tom, and paused for a moment to take in the sight before him. He stood before a disheveled house, rusted iron gates that once kept it secure hung limply from their hinges beside him and a forest of brambles and weeds had torn up the path beneath his feet. The house itself was discoloured and every seam was riddled with cracks. Roof tiles were missing in places and rotted wood protruded from the window sills and beams. The whole place looked almost ready to collapse, and it had clearly been this way for some time.

Merlin took one cautious step over the threshold, assaulted all of a sudden by the dark magic that permeated the air and made his skin crawl. He was on high alert as a thought hit him like a brick.

 _He'd seen this house before._

A memory surfaced of his own trembling hands holding the crystal of Nehatid, as it showed a young girl running from this very house, to gaze through the bars of these very gates at a man who would father Tom Riddle. He stood like a rock, watching powerlessly as the boy he'd fought so hard to keep from the pure-blooded ideas of his ancestors stepped inside the Gaunt household.

He knew why Tom was here.

Quickly, he sidled from his concealed spot by the gates and made his way up to the house, fighting with each step against the repulsive magic clashing against his own. His very core didn't like the feel of this place.

Despite this, he pushed forward as silently as he could, testing the front door gently at first and then slipping inside with more confidence when it didn't creak. It was a wonder the thing was left unlocked- the Gaunts had gone pretty quiet recently, but after half of the family wound up in Askaban, rumour had it they were crazed and dangerous.

Merlin often disregarded rumours (he'd heard enough silly ones about himself), but this one he could grimly imagine to be true. His heartbeat quickened at the thought that Tom could be in danger and he passed through the decrepit former entrance hall into what appeared to be the most robust part of the house... if you could call it that.

The whole place was shrouded in darkness despite the bright morning outside. Moth eaten sofas appeared in the gloom, lit by a pale, wonky chandelier. A grime-caked rug that might once have been embroidered with emerald green snakes passed under Merlin's feet as he allowed his magic to reach out an absorb all sound from his movements. Something told him it was not wise to reveal his presence just yet.

He sensed Tom halt somewhere further into the room, and the old Warlock plastered himself behind the door when he heard a gruff voice call out.

"Who're you?"

Deciding this would be his vantage point, Merlin crouched down behind the scratched wood, and set his gaze through the hole where the doorknob might once have been. Now, at the opposite end of the room, he saw Tom Riddle planted before the sunken figure of a man. Shadows filled the sallows of his skin and his hair was wiry and unkempt, but unmistakably the fine robes that fell limply from his frame bore the signs of his former wealth, though they were now ragged and stained.

A part of Merlin wanted to pity Morfin Gaunt, but something about the malice in his grey eyes dispelled any trace of this.

Grey eyes. Just like Tom's.

Merlin swallowed as the conversation continued.

"My name," Tom replied with initial firmness, but seemed to hesitate a moment, "is Tom Riddle."

The man laughed, a hacking, mocking laugh. Though Merlin could only see the back of Tom's head, he could feel the boy's scowl from his hiding place.

"You're Morfin Gaunt. You're my uncle." Tom pointed to a ring on Morfin's knuckle that Merlin too had noted. It was from the vision.

"Yer, right," the Gaunt said taking a threatening step toward Tom, who remained admirably where he stood, "I want naught to do with you. Get out."

It took all Merlin's willpower to remain fixed behind the door and to not run forward and _get Tom out of there._ He could feel dark magic rolling off Morfin in waves, the man had used the forbidden curses many a time, and if he were to reveal himself he didn't want to surprise the man in to lashing out.

Mostly, though, he was terrified of what ideas this shadow of a man could plant in Tom's head.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Tom replied with a silky tone that seemed to surprise Morfin, and the older man peered at him curiously, as if he had only just noticed the boy was there.

"See, it took a lot for me to find you here, and I won't leave without what I came for." Tom's voice was chillingly calm, and as he spoke he took a step forward toward Morfin. The Riddle boy must have fixed him with such a meaningful stare, because from his vantage point, Merlin saw the tiniest flicker of alarm on the Gaunt's face.

Tom had managed to scare the man. Somehow, Merlin was relieved for it.

"Whatsit you're here for then, boy?" Morfin spat, pacing further out of the gloom, Tom tracking his every move. Now able to see his face, Merlin saw the boy smile just a little in triumph.

The old Warlock didn't see this side of Tom much anymore, but he'd be foolish to forget it. Tom could be cold and cruel, and he always got what he came for.

"The truth." Tom declared, ignoring Morfin's raised eyebrow. "I want to know who I am, and I want you to tell me where to find the Chamber of Secrets."

Morfin paused a moment, fingering the ring on his finger, which Tom eyed longingly.

"You want to know who you are, eh?" He said with a mocking smile. Tom nodded.

"If you really are my nephew- which I doubt you are- then your mother's a blood-traitor and yer father's a scumbag!" Morfin burst out, suddenly animated, his eyes filled with a crazed hate. "You don't deserve shit from me!"

Tom almost growled in response, "I'm his descendant just as you are. I don't give a damn about my real father, and I don't see why you should care so much either!"

Morfin's eyes bulged, "Take a look around you, and tell me where you came from," he said savagely, indicating the decrepit state of the house, "You are worthy of your fathers name when you two are _exactly_ what brought the noble house of Gaunt to ruin!"

Tom actually flinched when he heard this. Perhaps it was only because the spittle from Morfin's outburst had reached him as the old man advanced closer and closer. Now he was inches from the boy's face, and Merlin waited for an agonising moment with baited breath.

Suddenly, Morfin drew back from the boy and laughed.

"Ha! You don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" Tom ground out in a low voice, his eyes narrow. Morfin looked triumphant, but Tom's face was stony and unreadable once more.

"I ended up in Azkaban because of your father," Morfin said, waggling a finger at the boy, "Oh yes, Merope was besotted with him. The muggle deserved what I gave him- they all do. "He looks prettier covered in hives," was what I told Merope after, but she wouldn't have it."

"That's got nothing to do with _me_." Tom replied.

"Might as well do, your mother named you after the _bastard_."

Merlin closed his eyes in despair. He'd never been entirely clear on what happened between Tom's father and the Gaunts, and this was certainly not the situation he'd wanted himself or Tom to find out from.

"So desperate was you mother," Morfin continued, "that she gave him a love potion; convinced him to marry her. Then as soon as he found out about you, and the love potion wore off that _filth_ left. Ran back to his mansion and left the _true_ nobility to crumble. And when yer snivelling little cries sounded in that Orphanage your mother died. Because of _Tom Riddle_. And when I come back from Azkaban the 'ouse is empty and rotten! And the family blood is dirtied and splattered on all the walls! And your wretched father still lives in his mansion up the hill- a muggle who is capable of such evil remains in luxury whilst _I_ have been reduced to _this_!" By the time he had finished, Morfin's tone was frantic; his eyes were glazed over and he panted quietly. A twisted sense of satisfaction, however, remained on his face as he took in Tom's reaction to the news. The boy remained utterly silent, but his eyes flicked from side to side as he clearly thought deeply.

Merlin recognised the madness with which Azkaban would leave a man plain on Morfin's features, and the dark wizard could barely contain himself. He burst out again.

"Now you see, huh? Now you see! You and your namesake ripped this family apart and you call yourself an heir of Slytherin?!" Morfin actually spat on the ground at Tom's feet, and the boy went rigid. Merlin's blood boiled.

"It's not right," Tom whispered after a long pause, almost to himself, "it's not right."

He looked up at Morfin, scrutinising the mans face like a farmer, wondering how much more use he can get out of a crop before it turns rotten and sour.

"My father shouldn't live that way after all he's done to us both, wizard or not."

Morfin narrowed his eyes, and Merlin too noted in the boy's use of "us both" the game Tom was playing. He was filled with dread.

"I want to forget that man ever existed, uncle. I want to _erase_ him from my family's history and rebuild Salazar's name." Tom continued, his tone measured. When he had finished, he waited patiently for Morfin's response.

"You're a shrewd one, I'll give you that." The man muttered, and Merlin couldn't help but agree. Tom represented the traits of Slytherin perfectly.

"Now," the boy said cautiously, as if approaching a dangerous animal, "I need you to tell me everything you know about the Chamber of Secrets."

Immediately Morfin let out a hiss of objection. Merlin wouldn't have thought it more than that if it hadn't been for Tom's reaction. The boy was entirely taken aback, and his facade slipped. It was then Merlin realised that what Morfin had spoken was parseltongue, and he suspected Tom had understood every word.

"I won't take no for an answer." The Riddle boy pressed, quickly restoring composure.

"If I knew what my ancestors had done to hide the Chamber, I certainly would've opened it myself. How can you, who knows nothing of the will of Salazar, claim to be worthy enough of such knowledge!"

"No one knows what the will of Salazar was anymore. You're a fool to cling on to a past you know nothing about." Tom replied coldly, and Merlin felt the boy's frustration growing.

"You could never have the strength to enact his wish. To purge the school of muggle-borns." Morfin said, advancing on Tom again, his eyes ablaze with malice, "You're just as ridiculous as your father, and not a single man- Salazar or otherwise- is going to end up proud of you!"

The next few moments were a blur. Morfin finished his tirade of abuse and Tom reacted immediately. His magic pulsed in the air and made their hairs on Merlin's neck stand on end, as the boy drew his wand all of a sudden and rushed at Morfin. The man had little time to prepare before he was pinned against the wall, Tom's wand to his neck and the boy's furious gaze an inch from his.

Maybe Tom was only a thirteen year old boy, but it was apparent that Morfin, in his frailty, was no match for his physical strength. But Morfin was maddened and therefore dangerous and as the man thrashed his pinned arms against his sides, groping for his wand in the pocket of his robes, Merlin braced himself. As soon as the old man, unbeknownst to Tom, had wrapped his fist around his own wand, Merlin's eyes glowed for a fraction in the dim light, and knocked the stuffed stick from his hand.

It clattered to the floor, alerting Tom, who kicked it out of reach, before turning back to the man who now appeared genuinely frightened. And rightly so.

Heart hammering, Merlin wondered briefly if he'd just done the right thing. He'd saved Tom, but what would the boy do now?

" _Mo_ is proud of me." Tom hissed into Morfin's face, and Merlin was a little taken aback. That was what Tom felt so strongly about? "And soon Salazar will be too. And everyone will forget about my father, and forget about you, and all the shadows of a past that I never chose. Now tell me what you know about the Chamber of Secrets!"

"I told you, _never_." Morfin objected again, and Tom only seemed to anger further.

"Tell me where it is or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" Morfin goaded, rising in volume. "You couldn't do naught to me-"

"Or I'll kill you!" Tom roared all of a sudden, his wand shaking in his grip. Merlin realised just how much all the new information he'd received had shaken the boy beneath that unbreakable mask.

 _This was wrong._

"Enough!" Merlin hollered, stepping into the room at last, sending out his magic to envelop Tom's own, which had suffocated the room in his rage.

The boy in question froze at the sound of his voice, turning sharply from Morfin, who appeared equally shocked. Tom locked eyes with Merlin, as if to check it was really him, and on confirmation he seemed to tighten his hold on the man before him. He didn't want to be seen to back down.

"Don't let him goad you, Tom." Merlin said in a quieter voice that held a hint of a warning.

"He hates muggles, Mo. Why don't you hate him too?" Tom tried to reason, "He deserves this- him and my father!"

"I don't wish harm on any man." Merlin replied, "Don't stoop to a level below yourself." He tried to remain calm, but his internal monologue shrieked with dread. He had to believe Tom was better than this.

Perhaps it was a combination of Merlin's intervention and the aid of his calming magic, or just that the heat of the moment passed, but Tom let Morfin drop from his hold against the wall. The man staggered and wheezed, and Tom seemed grimly satisfied by this suffering he'd caused, but he didn't stow his wand. The silent message that he was prepared to do it again.

"You heard, I assume." Tom said eventually, looking away from Merlin at the peeling wallpaper across the room. Was that _shame_ he sensed the boy trying to cover?

"Most of it."

"Do you think he's right?" Tom indicated Morfin now, still recovering.

"I think he's insane," Merlin said, "what your father did was wrong, but all muggles are not responsible for one."

"I knew he left my mother, but I didn't know he was responsible for all this..." Tom gestured to the house.

"He wasn't. The Gaunts had been squandering their wealth and ending up in Azkaban for their rash actions for many years. They're a disgrace to Slytherin." Merlin tried to explain, and Tom gave him a curious look.

"Do you think I'm a disgrace to Slytherin then?" He shot back, "After all, I'm one of them, aren't I?"

"No, you're not." Merlin replied calmly, and he could tell Tom had been itching for a more confrontational response. He was angry; he was confused; he was questioning everything Merlin had taught him.

For who could he trust? His real family, whom he searched so long to find, or Merlin, who'd found him?

"It might be easier to blame them all- the muggles," Merlin added to his thoughts aloud, "but that doesn't mean it's right."

Tom nodded, looking down at the floor, all trace of that intimidating gaze disappeared.

"Why did you follow me?" He said after moment.

"Did I have a choice?"

"Now I'll never find out about the Chamber." The boy grumbled, almost accusingly.

"You will."

Before Merlin could go on though, he heard a cry from the gloom. Morfin, on his hands and knees, had retrieved his wand from where Tom had kicked it. He staggered to his feet, eyes fixed on Merlin.

"How _dare_ you turn him against me! Against Salazar!" He hissed furiously.

And then the old man kept hissing. Merlin saw Tom's eyes widen in his peripheral at the intricate but nonetheless guttural sounds escaping Morfin.

The boy looked star struck to hear parseltongue spoken from another person, and indeed Merlin could only count on one hand the times he had come in to contact with it. This was certainly the first time Tom had truly heard the foreign tongue.

Merlin spared a moment to wonder what Morfin was saying, probably a long tirade of vulgarities, and he was caught off guard by the sudden crackling of magic in his ears. Instinctively, he pulled Tom behind himself to shield him and the old Warlock's eyes burned with molten power.

Time slowed.

The jinx that Morfin had hurled in a fit of rage froze a few metres from Merlin's face. He considered it coldly for a moment, before sending the offensive spell back toward its caster with a sharp jerk of his chin. His instinctive hold on time relaxed, and Morfin barely had time to register his shock before he was hit square on with a leg locking curse.

Merlin grabbed a still frozen Tom Riddle, who had drawn his wand again despite Merlin's protection, and called to him.

"Lets get out of here before he tries anything more serious," and then he cried, "prepare yourself!" Grabbing the boy's rigid arm, the pair disappeared from the hovel with a loud crack.

They lurched back into existence in the alleyway near Pennethorne road. Side-along apparition was crude, but effective, and offered the briefest moment of relief for Merlin. Plus, he could hardly use his normal method of transport with Tom in tow.

Accustomed to the feeling regardless, Merlin landed squarely on his feet, and he allowed himself a few rattling breaths whilst their surroundings came in to focus. Tom, on the other hand, collapsed against the dark wall of the twitton, eyes bulging as he gasped. Merlin realised it had probably been his first time.

Instinctively, the Warlock stepped forward to help Tom up, but a pale hand batted him away with frustration as the boy fought to regain composure on his own. His gaze kept darting about the alley, but ultimately came to rest on Merlin.

The old Warlock didn't like to see Tom like this. Almost manic in the way he scrabbled to cover up his slip in control. Merlin shut his eyes a moment, shaking his head slightly as he stood over the Riddle boy.

"You didn't believe it, did you?" He said with a deathly quiet; he had to make sure.

"What?" Tom snapped back, though when Merlin reopened his eyes he saw that the sharpness of the comment was unintentional. Tom looked... defeated.

"What Morfin said. About you, about your father."

"I don't know." Tom replied, "I don't know what to think."

Merlin folded his arms, staring at his shoes as he turned away from the boy to hide the despair in his expression. He felt Tom's eyes glued suddenly on the back of his head, as if in realisation.

"Your wandless magic," Tom rasped, still recovering from their abrupt departure just a few moments earlier, "it was incredible."

"Yeah, and it might well have saved your life." Merlin said bluntly as he spun back round to face Tom, who was beginning to regain his normal composure. He deliberately ignored the slightly sickening expression the boy wore whenever he saw Merlin's magic. Albeit dulled by time, but still unnerving in reminding Merlin of the weight of his powers.

"If I hadn't followed you..." He dreaded to think what Morfin could have done. "Why go behind my back? Why, after everything?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't approve." Tom said, and he was right. Merlin didn't approve. He felt their unfinished conversation from the Gaunt house flaring up again as he replied sharply.

"And you didn't think to listen to that thought?" His voice raised a little, "Morfin is a crazed man, who knows what could have happened-"

"It was the only way to find out the truth! If it weren't for you, he might have told me where the Chamber of Secrets was! I could handle myself!" Tom burst out, realising a little too late that he had pointed his wand at Merlin. He hadn't loosened his grip on it the whole time.

Now though, he faltered slightly, as if a little worried by making such a threatening gesture to his guardian. After all, he'd just seen what happened when someone let a spell loose on Merlin when he wasn't expecting it.

Merlin sighed, and reached a hand forward to lightly pressed the tip of Tom's wand away from his chest with a finger; he understood he had startled the boy, which wasn't something Tom experienced often. The young Riddle quickly stowed his wand away, offering the tiniest reassurance to Merlin. The old Warlock softened.

"It's not about whether you could handle yourself. Nor even that I was afraid of the things you heard today- and I was afraid," Merlin said breaking the silence as the anger began to diffuse from the air, "It's that I don't know what I'd do with myself if you got hurt."

He'd realised, in those few moments of cold rage when he'd faced Morfin, that all his worries of the corrupted ideas the old man had spouted were totally insignificant to the fears that had gripped him when he saw the spell being cast toward Tom.

As Merlin returned his gaze to the boy, he saw something akin to realisation in his eyes. Finally Tom understood that Merlin was not out to protect the world from him, like Dumbledore, instead he just wanted to protect Tom from the world. Some would say Merlin wasn't as strong as the professor, in that he couldn't prevent himself from such an attachment, but perhaps it was ultimately the key to his success with the Riddle boy.

Tom knew when he was being lied to, and when he was being seen by others as a threat. He'd grown so used to this he'd forgotten what it felt like to just simply be cared for. Maybe even loved.

He moved toward Tom, raising a hand to brush the boy's unusually unkempt hair from his face with a worried frown.

Tom, who despised fussing of any kind, surprisingly allowed him to do this.

"You're... special," Merlin whispered, and then he spoke louder, "But I told you, my wandless magic reacts to my emotions. Don't you _dare_ put me in that situation again."

He paused to make sure the sincerity of his message sunk in. Tom nodded once, making eye contact.

"Come on, let's get you home."

That evening, as Tom departed from the dinner table to head up to his room, Merlin buried his head in his hands. The tension was stale now, and in some ways that was even worse.

He'd pondered most of the day about what course of action he could possibly take from here. As far as he was aware, Morfin Gaunt didn't know where he and Tom lived, but part of Merlin had contemplated going back to the decrepit hovel just to give the man a warning. He never wanted the crazed wizard to come into their lives again, and who knew what damage he'd done already?

Eventually, though, he'd recalled Freya's advice. She was so much wiser than he'd ever be, after all, and he should listen to her. Merlin needed help. It was time to bring everyone together, and for better or for worse, he had to trust that his friends wanted to be dragged the whole way into this.

He had some letters to write.

 _||*Roughly means: "distract wandering gazes"_

 _(Essentially the spell would stop people from being able to look at Merlin too closely or identify him. Invisibility wasn't really an option because he still had to call and board the bus, but the idea with this spell is that he would simply be overlooked. Hope that makes sense.)_

 _When it comes to spells, I plug the words I want into an old English translator and see what I can approximately come up with- so apologies if I butcher more of them in the future._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _Yours, Hedge_


End file.
